Widows' Walk
by excessivelyperky
Summary: With every death, there are those left behind. Now Molly and her family must cope with Arthur Weasley's death, though with the help of Nanny Ogg and others.
1. Chapter 1

It was ten years ago today that I posted the last chapter of "The Birthday Present". I bet you thought I forgot!

This story, like BP, is totally AU to both Half-Blood Prince _and_ Deathly Hallows. Frankly, if you are new to this particular part of the HP universe, please read "The Birthday Present" first. I have grave difficulty summarizing that long a story. Let's just say that the summer and early autumn after Order of the Phoenix is a lot different than in canon (for instance, Snape is still a pureblood, but he was raised in Knockturn Alley rather than in Cokeworth, and met Lily only at Hogwarts).

Speaking of canon, the Harry Potter universe is of course Ms. Rowling's (and her various assigns, including Warner Brothers). No money is being made through the writing of this story, and chapters will be updated with _extreme_ irregularity, since I have professional writing to do. I have also updated my author profile to allow people to know what I'm up to these days.

Chapter 1: Knockturn Alley

Arthur Weasley

Arthur Weasley lurked as quietly as he could, and felt silly in his concealing cloak. He hated having to wait for Snape to show up, but had learned from his little encounter with Nagini that perhaps he shouldn't try anything stupid on his own. His ordeal in St. Mungo's, and Molly's fussing, had cured him of that ambition.

Well, almost. He listened to reports from others in the Order at Grimmauld Place, and sometimes longed to be a real hero like many of the others. That dashing little Tonks, for instance, often had adventures that should curl her hair if she let it do so, and never mind what Moody still got up to at his age. Then again, he wouldn't dare ride that motorbike that Tonks used, nor did he want to spend most of a year locked in a chest at Hogwarts the way that Moody had. His own sojourn in hospital had _mostly_ cured him of it.

Of course, the one he sometimes admired the most was Snape. At times, the potions professor seemed like a figure out of Muggle spy literature. The Order now appreciated him a little bit more, after times of having to do without him. Most of the people there had a better idea that Snape likely did have an expiry date, and that perhaps they should think about what to do if it came too early.

 _And here I am, keeping him up late on a school night. I really could have done this myself,_ he thought. _But then, that's what I thought right before Nagini nearly killed me, so perhaps I'm not the best judge here._

Arthur was just wondering if Snape was going to make it, or had something go wrong again, when he spotted the tall, lanky figure strolling along—with those legs, Snape could walk a mile to everyone's half for nearly everyone but Hagrid. But things must be all right—the potions master wasn't doing his usual checking for something wrong that Arthur had seen him do at times. _And maybe not checking will get him and maybe me killed_.

Well. He should be doing some of this too, and not just leave it to others. He'd been certain that Dung had cleared the place out when he'd been attacked last year, too. He used the cowl of his hood as a shield, and looked behind Snape to make sure his partner wasn't being followed, at least not in any obvious way, and then, as casually as he could manage, struck up a light and started off his third cigarette. Molly would rag on him something fierce when he came home, if she was still awake, for fouling his breath and lungs, but there were times that a fag was the only thing that kept him alert on this kind of post.

Snape's hood covered his face as well. In the light of the cigarette, though, he looked tired—after a day of teaching it was no wonder, never mind the health problems and other duties the poor man must endure. His own house was a quiet one these days, at least while school was in session. Of course, the madhouse known as the Ministry usually made up for that, but Arthur wondered at times if Snape ever had any peace.

Then again, maybe these assignments were the way he managed. He coughed, only partly from the cigarette smoke, and suddenly Snape was right there, on alert. "What game did we play at my birthday party?" the spy asked in a low voice.

"Kissing my wife at Snapdragon," Arthur said, amusement in his voice. "And she didn't seem to mind it a bit. Don't worry, I didn't either."

The other man blinked. "I am surprised to hear that."

"Well, if it had gone any further, I would have complained, but I think any man who _doesn't_ want to kiss her has something wrong with him." He laughed a bit.

"Ah. Don't you have a question for me?"

"Not a one. Your face just went pink thinking about it yourself," Arthur said.

The other man snorted, softly. "Any man with eyes might do that," he said.

"Well, true, but I haven't noticed good vision on the part of the other side any time these last few years," Arthur replied. Yes, Snape hadn't minded being kissed by Molly at all. Then again, there were few men who did.

"I'm surprised you think you're safe around me," Snape said with sardonic humor.

"Ah, but the Order knows you're with me tonight. If you mean to shove me aside to take my place, you'll do it a continent away and everyone would see it was an accident after fifteen people witnessed it."

"Glad you think that I'm that capable," Snape said with a half-laugh. "So, what are we watching for, specifically? I know the old bat who runs the store across the street, and our noble leader was less than forthcoming, as usual."

"Well, now that's silly," Arthur said. "It's no secret at the Ministry that someone is smuggling in Ashwinder eggs, though we're not certain what they're hidden in. As usual, Nora is supposed to be the go-between."

"That would be stupid—I know what she likes to brew, and I don't think she would care for her shop going up in flames if the eggs were exposed to it. Perhaps she herself doesn't know exactly what's in the surprise package," Snape said, looking thoughtful.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's picked up a present and have it turn into a snake," Arthur said. Which was all too close to what happened to him, but he would rather not admit it here and now.

"We'd best check the back door, too. We really need four people, not two—it would be too easy for whoever is waiting to move things along the moment we leave for the back, or have them stuffing it through the back as we stand here," Snape grumbled. "Although it might be easier to wait till Nora actually has the goods and watch her face when we tell her about the Ashwinder eggs. I don't think she'll mind spilling names once she knows _that_."

"Well, I had an idea along those lines. I saw a Muggle magazine where they advertised something called a 'security alarm' that howls like a banshee if anyone touches it, for their automobiles. I tried one out on our new auto, and magic doesn't bother it. Caught one of the twins, don't know what they wanted to do to it, and hope I don't find out, messing with the door. I bought another one and set it on the back door of Nora's. It has the same color as the door frame, and since it's not magical, shouldn't be detected till it's too late. We should remove it when we leave, though. I was told the 'batties' in it should last for several days, never mind just tonight." Arthur was rather proud of himself for following the instructions at home till he could set up without looking at them and still have it work right. Molly had put up a Silencio around his whole shop after the first few times it'd gone off. Now, if someone put a Silencio around the door first and then opened it, he might be in trouble, but he didn't think anyone would do that. He hoped.

Snape nodded. "If Nora is accepting very late deliveries, she's not likely to have any alarm of her own up. Did you come across Bill the Spike back there when you put it up? He lives in that pile of garbage nearby."

"I waited till he went on his evening begging run to set it up. Unless he's twins, I doubt he saw me. Now, taking it back down without him seeing might be a bit of a problem."

"I'll supply him with a distraction," Snape said.

Traffic in the dismal part of Wizarding London was slow this evening, and right now non-existent. Arthur heard activity in the area—a cat was doing his courting a block away, while there was some excitement a block in the opposite direction.

"You don't know this area as well as I do," Snape said. "It's more quiet than usual, but part of that is being mid-week. We wouldn't find a private corner anywhere here on the weekend. It sounds like the Deplorables are having another party, though, they pay no attention to the calendar that I can tell."

"Who are they?"

"Association of people who think they are much rougher than they actually are. Half of them are merchants from Diagon Alley who like a little walk on the other side and think they're bold for coming here. Though some robbers discovered that there was nothing wrong with their wandwork last year, and the Alley laughed themselves sick—Fletcher told me all about it after an Order meeting was over. They like to throw banquets. Still, they'll be worth watching once it lets out; not everyone there is on the up and up, and they might think it's a good time to move some merchandise, or collect it."

"You…you grew up here, right?" Arthur expected to have his nose bitten off for asking, but had to know if the rumors were true.

"Yes." Snape didn't scowl, for a change. For once Arthur waited to see if more might be forthcoming. He'd seen the results when even the Headmaster prodded a bit too much.

Silence fell. They stepped into further shadows—they were probably talking too much as it was. Arthur decided to show how patient he could be, for once. He rarely had to wait long for any of _his_ lot to say anything! Well, Ginny had been too quiet after that first year, and Percy…Ginny had grown out of it, but Percy was usually too busy trying to defend himself against whatever the twins had planned to offer opinions of his own. And as Madam Umbridge's assistant, he suspected his third son had little to say for himself. Then again, he knew when his own views weren't wanted there, though he was still bad at giving them anyway.

Snape could teach silence to a sphinx. Given how he was ragged every time he said something, Arthur couldn't blame him. Things were better in the Order for him than they had been, but things could turn again, especially with Moody starting to speak up out of turn. Oh, he fell silent again once Molly glared at him, and Albus certainly didn't even appear to encourage such comments or let them pass the way he did when Sirius was still alive…but Arthur didn't like it one bit, though he didn't know what he could really do about it.

Still, after every Order meeting, he and Molly compared notes and wrote some of them down—and went over them again after the next one ended, in case they'd let themselves be persuaded into something they knew wasn't quite right. Molly kept them with the ghoul, and there was no safer place in Britain. Snape still didn't attend every meeting, nor could he with his health the way it was.

Then Snape spoke softly. "We lived in an apartment a few floors above Nora's. She was still there then and probably always will be…the gin shop was just across the street, though, and that caused trouble."

"I don't wonder," Arthur said. Now, was it his mother or his father who drank, or both? Didn't matter that much. Life could still be hellish in any combination for a child. His relatives didn't drink that much, but he'd heard stories about the Prewetts—Molly's brothers were known to tip a few too many, one of the reasons they'd died or so he'd heard, and they had all seen Sirius Black in his cups too many times.

More silence. Arthur added something, knowing he was probably pushing too much. "Ah, families aren't always perfect, no matter how they look from the outside. And some families look horrible from all sides. Just say the word and you can borrow ours. There's always room for one more at our table."

"Your son Percy doesn't think so."

Arthur felt his face grow hot as he remembered the guardianship hearing. "Maybe he felt left out with so many loud ones before and after him. Maybe Molly asked too much of him too young, with Ronald and Ginny so little and the twins such a handful. But I don't think he'd mind you—for one thing, the twins pay attention when you speak."

"I wish that was true, but they pretended well enough," Snape said. He didn't sound angry about it, though, which was a change.

In fact, Arthur hadn't seen him angry for a long time. _No doubt Sirius Black being gone has helped, though Moody seems determined to keep up the comments despite what happened at the party. I wish Dumbledore would lean on him, God knows he won't listen to anyone else._

"Well, I had a bit of a talk with them over that poor Montague fellow," Arthur said. "How is he, anyway?"

"Ah. A bit slow to talk, but improving some over the last time I saw him," Snape said, who sounded surprised. No doubt he was.

"Good," Arthur said.

Then people began wandering the alley, who acted and chatted as if there was nothing wrong with this areas at all. _No doubt they know this place and don't worry about it because it's their home,_ Arthur thought. He became more watchful, since it would be easier to perform anything doubtful under cover of the light crowd.

Someone darted to Nora's front door and tried the handle, but wandered off as it appeared to be locked. "Shall we look at the back door now, or wait to see if my alarm works?" Arthur asked quietly.

Then he saw children darting through the crowd—what on earth were they doing here, and up so late at that? His speculation was rewarded when he witnessed one young boy lifting something out of a drunk's robe pocket. He almost said something, but Snape put a finger up to his lips. He also saw a boy with a large box, and people bending over to look at it, while a second one helped himself to the contents of a pouch hanging from one of the onlooker's belt.

"Don't grab your pocket or any place where you keep your valuables, though hanging onto your wand would be a very good idea," Snape said, in a voice barely above a breath. "We are more visible than you think we are."

Arthur stopped himself from slapping a hand on his left-hand pocket, but grasped his wand a bit more firmly. He was glad to have a wall at his back.

Once the crowd thinned, Snape stepped out towards the box. Arthur stayed behind till the tall potions master gestured at him to come along.

Arthur couldn't take his eyes off the large puppy—the paws were like saucers, even though the rest of the body was in proportion. He had always wanted one or two dogs around the place, but raising them from puppies was impossible in the Burrow, not with the ghoul in the attic. _I should have been more suspicious of how Scabbers was able to survive, though a rat can run into a hole even a ghoul can't slide into…_

"Hey there, little one," he crooned and reached forward his hand to just in front of its nose. But the not so wee thing was standoffish to him. Snape, however, leaned forward and offered _his_ hand, and the puppy was all over it as if he smelled of beefsteak. Arthur then remembered what his friend had said, and backed up a bit to make sure nobody tried to nobble anything out of their robes. One young boy, ten at the most, suddenly swerved away as if he'd spotted something more interesting elsewhere.

"Nice lure for the trade," Snape said to the boy with the puppy. "The usual arrangement with Harga's for after the banquet, I suppose?"

"Sure, Mr. Bartholomew always makes sure we have a squad at the back for taking care of what the cooks and waiters inside don't want," said the boy. "And we have to get rid of the puppy before she eats us out of house and home. The Boss said she was a Neapolitan mastiff, or something like that, and she'll end up as big as a Grim. So we set up the lure. Her name's Pansy…you aren't allowed to have dogs at the big school, though, Andy told us what was on the list."

"True. Not at the school itself," Snape said. "But I know someone who does have a dog, and he might want another, his current one is growing old."

Arthur hadn't thought of Hagrid, and nearly kicked himself for not thinking of the half-giant himself. He'd let Fang slobber on him a few times, and enjoyed it.

"Oh, I was supposed to ask you if you have any message for the Boss," the boy said. "He said the Dungbomb could come give lessons and take a few from him and call it even."

"Tell him that such an arrangement is all right with me," Snape said. "It seems quite equitable, and may even keep Mr. Fletcher out of trouble for the time he spends that way."

Arthur barely restrained a snort of laughter hearing that. He didn't think being hung in irons would do that. But Mundungus had his own sort of gifts, and many of them were the kind the Order needed.

Then Snape openly put a Warming charm on himself, and Arthur, thinking he knew why the other man did it now, performed the same charm on himself. The crowd was growing sparse, and if anybody was watching for magic, soon would have a clear field. Oh, he wasn't a brilliant spy like Marvin the Mad Muggle…but he could learn.

Then the howl of the alarm went off from behind Nora's. Having been briefed to do this ahead of time, Arthur pulled a shrunken broom, changed it back to normal size, and rode it quickly around the corner. Once on the ground again, he fired off a quick _Lumos_ and was glared at by some wretched tramp with refuse hanging off him. "Here now!" Arthur bellowed. "What are you doing there?"

The fellow ran awkwardly deeper into the alley, but Arthur knew better than to pursue, at least by himself. He hoped Snape was still watching the front, in case the alarm had been a distraction. He waited till the tramp was well away, and then backed carefully out into the street corner again, trying to watch all sides at once as he did so. After all, what was the point of having a spy if it was clear he was working for the Order or the Ministry? Now that he thought about it, it was silly for Snape to be here at all.

He said as much once they were ensconced in the shadows again.

"All too true, but you realize that I report to the other side about the Order's folly on a regular basis. They will be vastly amused by tonight's doings, and I will wax eloquently on how Hagrid will believe anything I tell him, especially once he receives the gift of this monstrous puppy. Although I will warn Miss Parkinson that when Hagrid is calling her name, that he really doesn't mean her."

"Oh, yes, of course," Arthur said. He noticed that something rather large and wiggly was in the pocket of Snape's robe. "Aren't you worried that the puppy might, ah, forget it's housetrained?"

"If that's the worst thing that happens to this robe this week, I will be amazed," Snape said.

Arthur realized how much Snape had changed, and how much of himself he showed these days. _He might show how he really feels to the enemy, too, and then he will die._ He was astounded by how much regret he felt at the thought. Before, Snape was a grouchy, necessary person, put up with because of his utility, but otherwise to be shunned even when it was clear the man was on his last legs. But now…Arthur wished with all his heart that Snape would live to see the end of the war, and after, and didn't end up in Azkaban because of Fudge's or Umbridge's wish to seem important-or to find a scapegoat for their own incompetence.

"If you ever need a place to stay, Snape, the Burrow has a lot of rooms that don't show on the surface. There's a reason for the name. We thought it best to raise the children above ground, though it was a bit crowded, but if you don't mind the dungeons…" Arthur said quietly. It wasn't quite the ancient formula of hearth, table and bed, but that was for Molly to give out if she liked, not him.

"I understand you're not always popular at the Ministry," Snape murmured back. "We have a lot of room at Hogwarts if you and your wife end up persona non-grata, and Grimmauld Place is no longer available. Mrs. Malfoy plans to take possession of the house, if only to inflict the portrait on her beloved sister, but she plans to take as long as possible to do so. Still, we should not assume that she will be able to delay more than a month or so. I suggest that the Order find another place to meet."

"Wait a minute, didn't Harry inherit it?"

"Yes, but he should be of age when he asserts his rights. That won't be till this next summer. I will undoubtedly be asked to boobytrap various rooms with Portkeys made with items he might find irresistible to pick up, especially in his godfather's room. Your new son would be better off staying away for now."

Arthur saw the sense in it. "I would rather not use my home, and Hogwarts narrows things down a bit too much. But I don't want Harry in any more danger than he already is. Well…Lovegood is sound enough, even if he's a lunatic. Someone else needs to ask him if we can use his place, though. He won't talk to me since I'm a Ministry lackey, and he won't even answer the Floo with me at it since Percy ended up at Umbridge's elbow."

"That won't be hard. His daughter is in Har—in the boy's circle, and from all accounts, if she's cut, her father bleeds. That could become a liability if the girl ends up in a bad position. I have carefully not mentioned anything about her at meetings just in case. I learned, you see, since I was the one who first raised that whole damned guardianship issue." Snape uttered a quiet, heartfelt sigh.

"I think you've been punished enough for that," Arthur said. "Well, let's see how that works out. Lovegood's a pureblood for all his madness, but he's willing to say a lot of things in the _Quibbler_ that nobody else is, and that will likely make him a target anyway. I will have to think this over."

The crowd disappeared, except for a small crowd of boys who went down the street and around the building where the party had been, Arthur thought towards its back entrance. He put together what the other man had said to the boy about Harga's and the leftovers. "Those boys…they're going for any food that the workers don't take home, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Oh, dear." Arthur had gone to bed hungry a few times when his children and the occasional extra had fed well, but…this was _wrong_. Even the _Prophet_ never said anything about Knockturn Alley except for the occasional bloody crime. He decided to ask a question about something else entirely. "Who is this Mr. Bartholomew? Is he the same person they call the Boss?"

"He trains lads in the art of distraction and thievery," Snape said. "Sometimes, one or two of them have enough magic to go to Hogwarts, and then I am told, though not last summer. Hagrid was contacted then instead."

"Oh, that's why Fletcher was involved," Arthur said. He realized that this was a part of the magical world that he had always dismissed. Perhaps the Ministry was making a big mistake, the same kind of mistake when they dismissed magical creatures and their rights.

"Yes, most of the people here have inhuman blood, are too poor to afford their own gear, or are Squibs. There is a surprising amount of Muggle blood mixed in as well—there's a certain amount of overlap with the Alley and a rather nasty Muggle neighborhood. Plus, there are also some normal businesses here, like Harga's, and a few wandmakers—not of Mr. Ollivander's quality, of course, but suitable for a number of needs."

"Including anonymity," Arthur said. "The twins don't actually make wands, not being stupid enough to attract the attention of the Ministry, but they do modify them on occasion. Apparently, Percy is setting up a little prank sometime soon, and wants wands that won't really work, but emit the correct light for various spells."

For a moment, Arthur thought Snape would laugh, though he made a strangled sound that could pass for it. _If he lives past the war, he might learn to do it out loud._ Well, he and Molly would do what they could to see that he did.

He spoke again. "What are the Ashwinder eggs we're looking do? I know they're dangerous, any fool knows that, but what kind of potions are they used it? It's been a long time since school for me, and Bellwood was never quite clear about some things."

"Just by themselves they're bad," Snape said, his voice falling into Standard Lecture Mode. "They have all the heat of an Ashwinder, but in a smaller package, which if handled properly can be used as a small explosive device. Not quite Fiendfyre, but sometimes you want something that can make holes and not try to eat the caster. Combined with certain potions, they can be dissolved and the potions end up with the same effects as Greek fire. As you know, they are on the forbidden list, but anyone who manages to import any might well end up rich, or should we say richer, since Mrs. Malfoy thinks it is her husband that is behind the transaction. No doubt he believes that if he can make suitable donations to suitable parties, that his stay in Azkaban might be shorter than it appears to be now."

Ah. Arthur had heard of the Malfoy connection through his own sources, but to have it corroborated by someone much closer to the family helped. "I've heard much the same, and sadly, I can name the Ministry officials who are mostly likely to profit, too."

"We need all this information in one place," Snape said with a bit of grumble in it.

"Yes, and not just the one place I'm thinking of. He knows all, sees all, but he could still end up hit by a load of dragon dung and then where are we?" Arthur made sure to keep his voice low.

"Other side has the same problem," Snape said in a _very_ low voice. "Pity I can't find the dragon…"

Arthur nearly strangled holding back his own laughter, till he thought of something. "Charlie could probably help with that part."

"Hmm."

They waited there, watching nothing, for what seemed like hours, probably because it was. There was no noise, aside from a drunk trying desperately to hit a high note from a Warbeck song, except for some muted squeaks from Snape's pocket.

"They're not coming tonight, are they?" Arthur asked.

"No. I still think we will be better off confiscating them directly from Nora's, and for that, you'll need a couple of Aurors along with you."

"But none of them could sniff the wretched things out the way you can. Oh, wait, I have an idea…" Arthur whispered it to Snape, who nearly hit his head on the wall behind him in reaction. "It's not like he's given up the flask, after all, and we've all left hairs at Grimmauld place, Molly has to clean them all up after all the meetings."

"I'll…I'll think about it," Snape said.

"Just think, you can be as bad-tempered as you like and nobody will think anything of it," Arthur said.

"That is a temptation. Oh, and if we are going to leave soon, I should provide a distraction so you can remove that Muggle device from the back of Nora's. I'm sure everyone would be amused by it tomorrow morning, when business starts up again, but you might want to use it again."

"And that's why it's a good thing you were here, or I might have forgotten it," Arthur said. "Anything you'd would like set on fire here?"

"I see where the twins acquired their tendency for exciting demonstrations," Snape said. "I will admit I didn't care for the gin shop when I was younger. But the woman who runs it now isn't a bad sort. Perhaps this will do…" The other man shot off a spell that created a starburst explosion over the top of one of the other buildings, but it wasn't the Dark Mark—it seemed to be more of a Guy Fawkes thing and kept burning, though with no apparent damage to anything.

Arthur nearly kicked himself against for gawking, and sidled over to the alleyway, though he hoped the tramp was gone. He lit a healthy _Lumos_ to flush out anybody in there, and then quickly disconnected his Muggle toy from the back door. _I bet if I made enough of these, people might buy them for their own homes—most of the wrong sort wouldn't know what it was, and since it's not magical, can't be taken apart that way._ _Should write that down or tell Molly when I get home tonight, she remembers everything for me at times._

Once he was back, Snape canceled the spell. "One last thing, if you don't mind," he said as he pulled some magazines out of a different pocket than the one which held the puppy. "I confiscate these on a regular basis, and I thought I'd take this chance to have them autographed."

Arthur blinked. His work with the Mad Muggle comics had been very quiet—Ministry workers weren't supposed to moonlight, but raising seven children had been expensive. His cartooning skills from drawing lampoons of the teachers at Hogwarts had helped him earn a bit extra and put more food on the table when they'd needed it. "How did you find out?"

"Your son Ronald draws humorous Quidditch diagrams instead of taking notes in Potions at times. There was something familiar about the style, and flipping through one of these wretched things when I just can't look at any more essays, I noticed the little AW on some of them. I went through my collection, which I have built up over the years, and pulled all the ones I could find with those initials on them. If you would be so kind?"

"I'll do it in the morning and have them owled back to you," Arthur said. "My handwriting's bad enough on a desk with good light, or why I print half the time."

"Then I'll head back to the school now," Snape said. "I'm tempted to have a crisis with my potions again just to catch up on sleep."

"Do it," Arthur said. "I've closed my office door from time to time, and I know others who have, too. It can't be safe, trying to teach that class on short commons."

"True. I'll think about it," Snape said, and disappeared with a barely audible sound.

Arthur did the same, and was at the door of the Burrow. _I should set up my own house with one of these for each outside door,_ he thought. _Even a few seconds' warning might be all we need to stay alive._

Molly was there to greet him. "What took so long? Did you catch anybody?"

"Nothing there. Might try again during daytime, but not till Friday," he said. "There was a tramp who lived in an alley who seemed interested in the place, but he didn't stay around for me to ask him any questions."

"How was your friend tonight?" Molly knew who he had been standing watch with.

"Better," Arthur said. Then he sat down with her on the couch, shot off a _Muffliato_ , and told her everything. It seemed odd to take such precautions in one's own house, but Order business was Order business, and he should probably have remembered it earlier. He mentioned it to Molly, and she agreed.

"But I renewed the wards on the place this morning," she said. "It's not like anyone would hear a lot anyway. Still, I think you're right. If they want to listen to me singing to the pigs, they're welcome to it. Other than that, our business is ours, and not anyone else's." She took out her knitting. "I heard about a Muggle book once where some woman kept everything she knew in the style of her knitting, they were called her registers, and she could read them like a book. I thought that was a good idea, so I make more afghans these days and fewer jumpers."

"So that's why so many cover the furniture at the old place—I thought it was just because it was so gloomy."

"Well, that, too—but if it's not safe there any more, I'll have to bring them back home and decide what to do with them next. But it's better than no records at all, and I'm the only one who can read them. I'll have to tell Professor McGonagall, though, since you're right about nothing too much all in one place. She does knitted lace, you know."

Arthur didn't, but saw why his wife would. "She would be a good one to know, then. Nobody would think it odd for her to have more projects, either."

"You're right, though I think Professor Sprout knits, too. No, wait, she crochets. You could make a code with that, too. Well, we'd best run along to bed."

Arthur canceled the _Muffliato._ "They can listen all they want for the rest of the night," he said with a sly leer.

"Yes, I'm sure they'll be fascinated by the way we both snore…"

Severus Snape

Snape arrived at the gates of Hogwarts. He was exhausted. Fortunately, his loyal broom hovered just inside. He didn't know if Blood Brooms could be miniaturized and brought with him safely—he would have to ask Professor Hooch about that. Still, he was happy to take a ride over to Hagrid's cottage rather than walk all the way. The puppy in his robe pocket had not enjoyed Apparation at all, and the poor thing was a mess from both ends because of it. He wearily banished as much as he could to spare the laundry house elves from dealing with most of it.

Once he arrived at Hagrid's door, he knocked, hoping the half-giant had not gone to bed, but knew how late it was. The door creaked open, and Hagrid stood there in his enormous nightshirt. He yawned. "You all right, Snape?"

"Just tired…and I have an early Christmas present for you."

The giant's gazed turned down to the puppy in Snape's hands. "Awww…come on in! Let's see if Fang will get along with it first, though."

Snape was glad to sit down, though not before he carefully placed the puppy down. "She's supposed to be quite big when she grows up—some kind of mastiff. And her name's Pansy, though at this age you could change it, she'd become used to another one."

"Huh…" Hagrid stooped and looked the little thing over. "I see what you mean, those paws are near big around as she is. Fang, here, boy…"

The slobbering hound waddled over. The damp weather hadn't been good for his joints, and he showed it more the older he became. Hagrid was clearly starting to be affected that way, too, even though he was relatively young for his ah…species. Snape shrugged. His joints sometime ached as well.

Fang sniffed Pansy, Pansy sniffed Fang—well. The big dog sat right down by the puppy, and in turn, Pansy snuggled at Fang's feet. _She'll probably be lying on Fang's head by morning,_ Snape thought.

"Well," Hagrid said. "I expect the old boy won't mind having a girlfriend in a year or so. And she seems to have taken to you, too."

"She didn't like Apparation very much," Snape said, "but my robe is used to it."

"Yeh, I'll have to lay down some papers, and make sure Fang shows her the right places for that kind of thing," Hagrid said, as he mixed up a plate of brown stuff that Snape assumed was dog chow. "I hope you come out and see her every once in a while, though, puppies get lonesome.."

"And so do people," Snape said. "Young Mr. Potter might enjoy being around her, too. Her fur is quite dark, so if you name her 'Snuffles' instead of Pansy, he might gain some comfort, considering how well he loved his godfather."

Hagrid said, "Hadn't thought of that. That Miss Parkinson in your House might take on, too, if I go around calling her name." Then he laughed.

"It would probably do her good," Snape admitted. "But she has enough on her plate these days. I just want to keep her from killing young Malfoy before their Leaving Feast."

"If yeh don't smack them yourselves, is that it?"

Snape barked a laugh. "I've managed it so far." He took a deep breath. If only he could just stay here and sleep. This place felt _safe_ to him, more than any other place in the castle or on its grounds. He forced himself to stand back up. "Ah. It's been a long day and I'm keeping you up. Hope the puppy by any name will let you sleep."

"That kind of thing never bothers me. Once she's up on the bed with us, she'll settle down. But you can just stay here for the night—you know that little Winky will keep an eye on things."

"That's the problem—she needs sleep, too, but won't ever admit it."

Hagrid brayed laughter. "Like master, like elf! You both need a nursemaid, and no mistake. Well, come by once a day for a bit, if the pup likes you and you're here, she'll like it better and not fuss as much."

Snape nodded. It had been nice to have some living thing take to him so quickly. He never could have a pet in the dungeons, of course, but Winky did her best to make up for that. He rode his broom back to the castle and inside the halls as well. Though his potions mix wasn't trying to kill him this week, he had little stamina. He was tempted to beg off the next detail on Friday checking out Nora's and stick the real Moody with the task. But it was that or end up burdened with Hogsmeade detail during the half-holiday two days from now. It was easier going after one shop than trying to ride herd on hormonal, and sometimes homicidal, adolescents, and that was without any idiotic raids by his insane compatriots in the Circle.

He sent a quick message by Winky to the Headmaster that he was alive, well, and that nothing had happened. He fell into bed, and dreamed of nothing till it was morning.


	2. Chapter 2 More Fun in Knockturn Alley

This chapter is short, but there will be more. Oh, and it ends in an Evil Cliffie as well.

Merry Christmas!

Chapter 2

Arthur dressed in his formal Ministry regalia. Everyone in his office knew he was mad to catch Lucius Malfoy at _something_ , and went along with this most recent campaign. Of course, they weren't going to assign any current Aurors to his quest. Most of them had been involved in the past and wished to have a life, but this just meant they would look the other way should he end up in trouble again.

"Mr. Weasley," came that shrill voice that all men dreaded and most women, too. "Whatever do you think you're doing? Isn't your monthly report due on the Minister's desk next week? Shouldn't you be working on it instead of yet another foolish venture?" Madam Umbridge could have made herself heard through a stone wall. His plain wooden door didn't stand a chance.

"Ma'am," he said as graciously as he could manage, as he opened the door. "Surely with Mr. Malfoy in Azkaban, caught trying to raid this very building, it could not hurt to look into his possible business interests? If nothing else, Ashwinder eggs are extraordinarily dangerous, and pose a threat to those living on Knockturn Alley. I know we don't usually pay that area much attention, but if nothing else, there are those here who own property there and wouldn't like to see it damaged."

That was clearly the right note to sound. Her face grew somewhat more pensive and less scolding. "But why must it be you? We already have a department to investigate forbidden items and their import."

"But, madam, there was a Muggle device involved. I was strolling through the Alley when a horrific noise occurred. Upon investigation, I found this strange thing with wires and _battys_ attached to it, on the rear door at Nora's. I believe it to be a Muggle item, but it's certainly not like anything I have ever seen before." He held out his modified car alarm. "Just touch it, and hear how it reacts."

"No, no, that's quite all right." She visibly recoiled. "Go on, then, since there is nothing I can say or do to dissuade you."

He gladly did so. He Apparated to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which was barely less dowdy during the day than it was at night. 'Moody' was waiting for him, with a glare that should have melted the paving stones.

Then he remembered his manners, and 'Constant vigilance!'. "What was the last thing you did before leaving Snape's birthday party?"

"Lose my dinner and my good sense," 'Moody' grumbled, and then stumbled a moment. "Don't laugh, Minerva had to help transfigure this false magical eye and this beastly leg. No wonder _he's_ so awful. If the fit just isn't right, bolts of pain run right up into my, um…" And then he fixed the magical eye on Arthur, and said, "So, what's this I hear about a strange device that came into your hands?"

Arthur grinned. "And rewired by myself in the back shed. Not that Madam Toad needed to know about that part."

"Ha. Well, let's be on our way. I'm sure someone warned Nora to hide her own illegal potions ingredients by now and to let us take what we came for. She's not stupid enough to pay the full amount for anything till she's taken her profit. If she's paid any attention to the Ministry bounty for the eggs, she will be shocked, shocked that anybody could try to smuggle them in through her. Then she'll protest mightily that she's losing her shop if she doesn't receive enough compensation, and pretend we don't know that she has already charged the person further down the chain for goods they have not, and will not receive. Which money it will take that person at least six months to get back, which she will blame all on the Ministry."

"My, she certainly sounds _efficient_ …"

"She will, of course, scream loud enough for the whole block to hear. However, since you probably tested that device of yours several times, you have no hearing left anyway."

Arthur laughed. Moody and Snape really lectured in much the same way, though Moody growled more. A little bit, anyway.

They marched into the shop. The world turned into flame. " _Sabulomenti!"_ 'Moody' shouted, with a wand movement almost like Aquamenti but not quite. Instead of water pouring out of the other man's wand, a wave of sand flowed to the ground and began putting the blaze out. Once the worst was over, Moody limped forward and cursed. When he stopped, he looked at Arthur and said, "Good thing you held off. Water mixed with some potions only makes the flames worse."

"I should know that," Arthur said. "I didn't, though, and I'm glad you did." He tried out the spell as he looked at the smoky mess in front of him, and got it on the third try. He coughed, as did 'Moody'.

"Clearly a boobytrap of some kind," Moody grumbled. "Now let's see if there's anything left for us to find. I hope the old bag isn't hurt, but she could have tried to play both sides against the middle once too often and made too many enemies."

Arthur looked around. Ah—the vile dolls he'd been warned about containing the Ashwinder eggs were right on the counter where anyone could see them, untouched by the flames. He wondered if all of them were there, and if they contained the eggs _now_. He decided to examine them from a moderate distance, however. His detection spells show nothing, but if the eggs had been wrapped in the proper materials, they wouldn't. He was going to have to cut the dolls open to make sure. He stepped forward—and then stopped. "Moody," he said. "If I open those dolls up with a knife or other sharp edge, could something unfortunate happen?"

"If they are nearly ready to hatch, just exposure to cold air could set them off," the other man said as he lifted the lid on a cauldron with great caution and sniffed. "Who in blazes is paying Nora enough for dragonsbane? She must be mad to brew this now. Maybe she doesn't know about the eggs."

"Probably the reserve in Romania where Charlie works," Arthur said. "The Ministry vetted the contract and the suppliers. Her name wasn't on the list, but she may be a subcontractor to one of the people who were. I know it's dangerous stuff. I'm surprised she would allow the dolls so near it. Even I know that it has some flammable stages."

"I wish my students would remember it," 'Moody' said with a sniff. "And I am very surprised that the fire which met us did not set this or the dolls off. Then again, a badly-placed Aquamenti might well have done it instead, and we would both be several hundred feet off the ground, in many different pieces."

Arthur began gathering up the dolls into a carry-sack which he had brought with him. There were twelve of them, and they felt heavier than he thought most dolls should. But once put through a Ministry interrogatory by the Magical Artifacts people inside a warded exam room, traces of how they came into Nora's hands ought to close the chain of evidence that would keep Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban for quite some time. With any luck, that might possibly get the blond man moved to a slightly less salubrious portion of the prison, despite the man's bribes.

He heard a rumble from the direction of the cauldron. "Sna—er, Moody, why is the fire underneath the potion still burning? I thought you put that out."

"Good question," Moody rasped. It was clear he was pouring sand on it again, only to see the flames flaring up through the grains. "Get out _now_ , Weasley!"

Arthur darted for the back, since that door was closer. He heard a muffled explosion behind him, and for a moment, he hesitated. Snape wasn't used to being one-legged, and could need help. Then a ball of fire grew to his rear, and he fled out the rear. He'd summon help as soon as he was clear, he wasn't safe himself with those damn dolls in the sack.

As soon as he pushed his way to the alley, Bill the Spike rose from a garbage heap and went for him. Arthur struggled for his wand while still holding the heavy carry-all and the two of them went down in a tangled heap. He ended up bashing the tramp with the sack and heard at least one of the dolls break open. Another explosion shot flames out of the back door. Just as he finally set a stunner off into the tramp's belly, something hit his head. Everything went black.

Snape cursed, as even large amounts of sand on the flames and as many neutralizing ingredients as he could find on Nora's shelves failed to calm the excitable potion. Dragonsbane was touchy stuff even when fully brewed, and in its intermediate stages was never left unattended. Except for today. The only thing he could think of was to Banish the entire thing to the Gobi Desert, or to the Forbidden Forest, but London was too crowded and the closest safe space too far for him to send the cauldron to. Instead, he sliced the cauldron to bits to reduce the explosive potential, hopped out of its way as the liquid spread across the floor, and kept trying to drown it with sand to reduce the likelihood of its going up in flames.

Unfortunately, the liquid pooled underneath a wooden cabinet in a corner, and the smoking fluid started to eat through it. Snape was horribly afraid that was where Nora kept some of her more exciting potions ingredients, and that he needed to leave _now_. At least Arthur was on his way to the Ministry with what they had come here for.

But where was Nora? And the people who lived upstairs had to be warned. He put his wand to his throat and muttered a _Sonorus_ , "EVERYONE WHO LIVES HERE GET OUT NOW! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! He heard muffled steps of people stumbling down the steps and decided he'd done as much as he could.

The potions cabinet exploded.


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for taking so dreadfully long to update; I ended up working part time during tax seasons and managing the house for the rest of it, and well, stuff happens.

Chapter 3

Molly Weasley sat back one afternoon with a cup of tea to listen to the wireless after lunch. It had been a bit lonely lately. Arthur hadn't been able to make it home to eat with her today, though to make up for it he had owled her that he'd drop by a take-out place after work and bring home supper. That kind of thing usually led to another, and Molly looked forward to it. The Headmaster had finally relented and let the two have a couple of days to themselves at the Burrow each week; besides, Grimmauld Place was more dangerous than ever these days, and probably would be till Harry was of age.

Molly enjoyed the sort of lunches they'd had when they'd both been younger, of course, especially once Ginny was finally off to Hogwarts; but now both she and Arthur preferred to linger over dessert. Maybe once they'd paid off the mortgage on the house they'd used to finance all the school expenses, they could manage one more child. Sudden warmth flared in her belly just thinking about it. She still could, of course; every witch knew that much about herself no matter what age she was. In fact, she still had to take a potion each day that most witches only needed once a month.

She wondered what it would be like to have a wireless with pictures the way the Muggles did. Something Arthur called a 'telly' sat out in the garage, though to her it looked like a gutted wreck, with only the screen intact. A tattered copy of a magazine called _Popular Electronics_ lay open on its top, though Arthur said it wasn't much help. Fortunately, he'd put a shielding spell against sparks the one time he'd gotten any response from the thing.

Suddenly a chill passed through her, as if someone had opened the window—and in this nasty fall weather, too! Molly took her cup to the kitchen, then poured it out into the sink. Her stomach turned as if she were pregnant again, while she broke out into a cold sweat. She held her hands to the still-warm teapot, but even that brought no comfort.

Then she remembered. This was the way she'd felt when she'd seen the boggart. She would always be grateful to Remus for banishing it. But why was she feeling like that now? This was her home, not that nasty, ramshackle building. She didn't see any bodies here. Thank Bridget for that.

Molly sat down at the kitchen table, her face in her hands. Arthur had been hurt not long after. Maybe it hadn't been the boggart that had made her feel so bad last year, though seeing the dead bodies of her family would give anyone a turn. Maybe she needed to summon enough courage to look at the clock. One of its hands had just moved with its characteristic _tock_.

A chime sounded as someone woke up her Floo. Arthur had set the spell, saying that if Muggles could figure out how to let others know they were calling, wizards certainly ought to be able to.

She went to fireplace. Molly's face opened to a wide smile when she saw Percy in the middle of the flames.

"Mum?" he said softly. "Can I come home for a bit?"

"Of course!" she said. It didn't matter what he'd done. A mother's heart was made to be trampled on, and hers was no exception. "This will always be your home."

Percy came through the fire, followed by Alastor Moody. She rather liked the gruff old man. His bark was worse than his bite, and both of them knew it.

Molly sat them both on the couch, and started a fresh pot going. Once the tea was done, she served them both, and poured herself a new cup as well.

"I'm so glad you came back," she said to Percy. She didn't mind Moody listening in. Maybe it had been the old man who had finally made her son see that the Ministry had its collective head up a spout, and that he was better off working somewhere else.

Percy sipped his tea. Oh, he looked so thin and worn! Dolly must be running him ragged when he was stuck in her office. "Let me find you both something to eat," she said, and rose to go back to the kitchen.

"We won't be here long, Mum." Her son put down the cup and stretched a little, but he still looked tense. "I have to tell you a few things, and then you have to come with us."

Fresh horror struck her. She put her cup down quickly, before her trembling hand could drop it. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No, Mum, I'm all right. You see—last year I was asked to work with that, that Madam Umbridge and let some people know what was really going on in her office. She didn't trust me, not until it looked like I wasn't part of the family any more. Oh, Mum, it nearly killed me to send your jumper back! But I had to get you mad at me, or she never would have told me anything. It sickened me the way she pretended to sympathize with me." Percy's skin flushed red. "But that's not important now. You've got to come with us to St. Mungo's."

"Who's hurt?" Molly said, still not looking at her clock.

"Dad."

"Why didn't you say so right away?" She got up to fetch her purse.

"I just wanted to be home again for a little while," Percy said. "I won't be able to come back much. And we both have to keep pretending that things are wrong for a while longer."

Molly was full of questions. She finally looked at the clock, knowing it would answer at least one of them.

Yes. Arthur's hand had moved to _Mortal Danger._ "Let's go."

They Floo'd to St. Mungo's. Had the hand on the clock moved again just as she entered the fireplace? She thought so but couldn't bear to look back. She would find out soon enough.

She remembered last year when Arthur had been wounded. At least then she'd known he was alive, and though it took him longer than she liked for him to grow well again, had had no worries that he would die of it. Granted, that poor Auror's death from Devil's Snare had given her a turn; she had made sure somebody had been with her husband day and night after that.

Now they walked through the corridors of the place. She remembered her last lying-in. She normally had had her babies at home, but she hadn't been entirely well with Ginny, and had gone through a bad time of it when the girl came. The midwife had tut-tutted over her, and said, "Now you finally have your girl, you might give it a rest."

Molly had silently agreed. But now all her babies were growing up away from her. Ronald was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and Ginny in her fifth. Fred and George had left school last year, while Bill and Charlie were grown men now. And Percy—she'd made him grow up too fast, but with the twins, what else was she to do? She recognized now that she'd never really let him be a child.

But her heart was much lighter than before, when she'd believed he'd left the family for good. His story made a lot of sense, and with Moody there to back it up, it was probably true. Besides, Percy was terrible at lying. He always went all cold and white whenever he tried it. No doubt he could convince some people, but never her.

Maybe that was why he'd refused to talk to her at all for most of last year. There were no flies on Percy, or he never would have been made Head Boy. He probably knew he couldn't lie to her, at least not for more than five minutes at a time.

The three of them turned a corner, Moody's wooden leg going ka-thump as they went. A Healer, not the nice fellow who'd watched Arthur last year, but someone she knew from another department, stopped them. "Please come with me. You'll have to wait a little bit before you can see him."

She didn't like the way he said that. "Why can't I see him now?" she said, raising her voice just a trifle. "I know enough about healing magic to stay out of the way, if nothing else." In fact, Madam Pomfrey had tried hard to get her to put off marriage to Arthur and take the course.

"I'm sorry," Healer Williams repeated, though his voice was softer this time. "There are some Dark curses on him that might endanger anyone in the room."

"Oh." There had been others like that this last year. Molly knew that Madam Pomfrey had spent a few days in St. Mungo's herself from one of her patients with the same problem. It was truly horrible to target a mediwitch that way, though in a way she was surprised that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't thought of it before.

"What happened to him?" Had he ended up caught in the Department of Mysteries again?

"He was in Knockturn Alley," Moody said, "chasing rumors of illegally imported goods that Malfoy might have been importing. like the one he got last year. But he ran into a cauldron full of dragonbane that exploded the moment he entered the back room of Nora's. But someone was there waiting for him, who must have laid the curses that nearly killed the first mediwitch to touch him."

Molly gritted her teeth. It didn't matter how scarred Arthur got from the dragonbane, if only he got through this alive!

"He's in little pain, Mrs. Weasley, and it didn't catch him in the face," the Healer said. "But…just come with me, please."

The three of them followed the Healer to a waiting room and sat down once the man left. "Now that we have a few moments, Percy, you can tell me what you're doing _this_ year," she said. "Why do we still have to keep pretending? Dolly should have been pleased with you, the way you spoke at the guardianship hearing."

Percy turned pale and looked to Moody for guidance. The old Auror shook his head.

Molly stared at Alastor, then quickly cast _Silencio_ around them. "None of that, now. All my children are at risk, not just Percy. If I have to treat one of them like dirt, I need to know why."

"I have to tell her, Moody. I'm not like Snape. Maybe he can stand to have everyone hate him, but I can't. It's bad enough that my brothers and Ginny think I'm a traitor. Even Dad didn't know till a few months ago. You don't know Mum like I do. Wild horses couldn't drag something out of her if she didn't want to tell."

The Auror sighed. "Now that you've made it obvious that there's something up with both you and Snape to any intelligent listener, you might as well. But if you spill too much, I'll Obliviate both of you."

"You and what army, Mr. Moody?" Molly said harshly. "Remember, I was at 12 Grimmauld Place all last year off and on, and I drew my own conclusions about Professor Snape. You'd have to erase over a year, and that's not going to happen. If I am not to be trusted, I should have not gone there in the first place."

"A good point, ma'am."

"Now that nonsense is taken care of, you've avoided my questions long enough, Percival Ignatius Weasley. What are you doing this year?"

Percy gulped, and turned even whiter. "My Ministry job is supposedly cataloging violations of juvenile magic for Madam Umbridge. I'm to keep a special watch on Harry and his friends. I'm supposed to be able to betray Ron, too. But my real job is as sort of a personal assistant to a, a Mr. Pettigrew." He rubbed his left shoulder.

"Oh, dear Merlin," Molly said as what he said sunk in. Her boy was not even twenty, and already he was so deep in danger she could not begin to express her terror for him. She leaned over in her seat, hugged him, and whispered in his ear. "Take my blessing with you. If a mother's love could save Harry, then know that you have mine, no matter what's on your arm or shoulder or wherever right now."

She released him and sat back. "And dare I ask what you are really doing?"

"Well, Wormtail likes having another Gryff there among all the Snakes," Percy said, obviously trying to make a joke of it. "But aside from information, I'm there to fetch Snape out if he's ever too hurt to move himself. So far I haven't had to, and that's good, because once I have to use the Portkey Moody gave me, the show's over for me too unless I'm very lucky. Oh, Mum, none of us have ever thought well of Slytherins, but what Snape has to do…I don't think anyone else could bear it."

Alastor cleared his throat. "That's enough, Weasley. Snape can take care of himself."

"You wouldn't have given me the Portkey if that's what you really thought," Percy replied with spirit.

"Never mind that for now," said Molly. No wonder her boy looked so worn out. "If you need that Portkey for yourself, son, you use it," she added sharply. "If Moody thinks Snape can manage, then he's probably right." Although after seeing the man half-dead on her doorstep, she didn't know what to think.

Percy smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, eyes which had clearly seen too much. She knew that sort of look; it meant that he would agree with anything she said and do what he pleased when the time came. Arthur often gave her that look when she pled with him to leave the raids for Dark artifacts to others and keep himself safe.

She got up and paced a little bit, now consumed with worry. Why were they taking so long? Surely they had gone past any boobytraps by now, and had been able to take care of her husband's injuries.

For a moment, she stopped and put a hand over her heart as the same chill that swept over her earlier today now seized her again. "Arthur, Arthur," she moaned softly to herself.

The Healer—she remembered how he'd tried to help Narcissa with her infertility-came through the door of the waiting room. She remembered about the _Silencio_ when she saw his lips moving but couldn't hear him, and quickly said, "Finite Incantatem."

"Come with me now," he said, looking solemn. All three of them followed.

Molly entered the hospital room first. Arthur was there all by himself, eyes closed. She rushed to his side and picked up his right hand in both of hers. Merlin, it was so cold! She held it to her chest to warm it.

He smiled just a tiny bit and struggled to open his eyes. "My best girl…" he said softly, though his voice had no strength in it.

"My favorite lad," she said right back, her heart in her throat. Hope began to fail within her. He was so quiet, so still. Even when he had been poisoned last year he hadn't been like this. She bent down by the bed so her and his head were close together. "You've got to come back to me, love. What would I do without you?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't want to leave you, lass."

If she could open a vein and bleed for him, she would. Wait. If she remembered the right spell, perhaps she could. "Arthur, where's your wand?" It would work better if both their wands were linked.

"Don't know…"

Molly glanced around. Both the Healer and Moody shook their heads. Percy took out his, but that wouldn't do at all.

"Well, then, we'll have to make do without," she said.

"Mrs. Weasley, you shouldn't—" said the Healer.

"But I'm going to anyway." Molly held both of Arthur's cold hands in hers and began to chant. "Warm be heart and hand and bone, giving life to soften stone; I offer love to your sweet breath, oh live my dear and fight off death!" She could never remember the Latin for this one, but it didn't matter. Intent counted for much, much more.

She felt her vitality leaving her and pouring into Arthur. For a few moments, she thought it might work. Her husband's eyes opened all the way and he looked at her as if he intended to bed her right then and there. That look made her tingle all the way down.

Then his face turned grey anyway as he grimaced in pain. It didn't matter. She continued to hold his hands anyway, even as shadows crossed her own vision.

Someone knocked her away. "Mum, Mum, I can't lose both of you!" Percy said, holding her. She was so weak she could barely stand.

"Why did you stop me?" she said. "Why aren't you doing anything?" She glared at the Healer.

"Because he accidentally swallowed some of the dragonbane during the explosion," the man said. "It was all we could do to keep him out of pain."

Arthur's eyes were closed now. "Let me go, Percy," she said.

This time when she touched him, she felt nothing at all. His cheek was cold when she stroked his cheek, and his sparse red hair had no life to it. She rocked back on her heels and screamed. It was true. It was true. Arthur was dead, he was dead, and the light was gone from her life forever.

She was caught up in her keening. All her soul was going out her mouth and into her grief. At last she gasped for breath and began weeping. She held Arthur in her arms as if he were still alive, but it was no good, he was dead, and he would never stir in her embrace or respond to her again.

Molly looked up at Percy for a moment, then at Moody. Her heart was torn to pieces, but she had to help protect the family she had left. "How could you betray your own father like that, Percy Weasley? How?" she wailed. "I could have saved him! Get out of here! I never want to see you again!"

His mouth dropped open for a second, then his eyes showed comprehension. Moody gave her a grim nod as he left, clearly understanding what she had done.

"And _you!_ " she said, glaring at the Healer. "You should have let me in sooner!" It was not difficult to be irrational right now. In fact, it was all she could manage to not claw the man's face into tatters.

"We need to…" the Healer said, looking apologetic.

"You have done quite enough," Molly said, rising to her feet and pulling out her wand. "I will take him home. He is no longer your concern."

"But, madam…"

"Enough, I say! He will be mourned in his own home." Molly felt shaky, but knew she dare not show it.

"Shouldn't you call a friend? There are some unpleasant parts of death that we here at St. Mungo's are a bit more qualified…"

"I can lay out my own husband, thank you very much. But that is an excellent suggestion. As soon as I bring Arthur home I will certainly call everyone I can think of."

He finally left the room. Molly wrapped Arthur's body tightly in the sheet, which she would clean and send back later, and charmed him to follow along beside her. Nobody was going to interfere with her last duties. She had to present a belligerent front, or someone was going to try to take him from her. She had to bring Arthur home.

A few people tried to stop her as she levitated her husband along with her towards the main Floo, but she only had to cast _Incendio_ once and after that they left her alone. Now she wished she hadn't dismissed either Percy or Moody. She gritted her teeth and kept on. She was numb right now, but knew it wouldn't last, and she had best be beside her own hearth when she couldn't bear it any more.

At the last moment, she saw Madam Pomfrey at the entrance to the main hospital reception room. "Oh, my dear," the older woman said. "It wouldn't be right to bring him through here. That Floo is really for emergencies, you know."

"But what am I to _do_?" Molly said. "I have to take him home."

"There's another Floo that most people don't know about," Poppy said. "Just follow me."

The mediwitch took her by the morgue, a deathly quiet place, and Molly understood. It was only right that Arthur should leave here by the portals for the dead, not for the living. The hearth in the back room burned sullenly, as if grudging anyone who escaped it.

Poppy threw the Floo powder, told it "The Burrow," and went through. Molly sent Arthur through next, then followed.

Once in her own parlor, she looked dully at the clock. Arthur's hand had moved to _Dead_. She took her husband back to the bedroom, and gently let him settle down on the bed where they had made their marriage and all but one of their children. Poppy was by her side and guided her to a chair. "He won't mind if we wait a bit, you know," she said gently.

"How did you know?"

"The Headmaster told me that Mr. Weasley was hurt. I knew you'd be there. Funny thing, though, I saw your son Percy talking with Auror Moody."

Oh, Bridget, why did she have to think of things now? But if she didn't, her son could be in even more danger than he was already. "Moody doesn't trust him," Molly said. "He asked me some questions, too. But how would I know what the boy is up to these days? Percy's left us, Poppy, and I don't know what to do." It wasn't hard to let the tears fall. Percy could be lying on this bed waiting for someone to take care of him out if she failed him now.

"Oh, my dear. And now this. You just sit right there while I make a fresh pot of tea."

"Don't put anything in it, Poppy. I have to tell the children," Molly said dully. "I can't leave that to anyone else."

"Call some friends, too," Pomfrey said from the kitchen.

"I will." But first thing she would call her own family. She fumbled in the closet for the special Floo powder, then went to the hearth. If only her Nanny was home!

Molly tossed the powder in and called. The dear, wrinkled face quickly showed up. "What wrong, girl?" asked the old woman.

"Arthur's dead." Molly took a deep breath. "I brought him home. Oh, Nanny, can you help me?"

"Of course. I've got to tell the other two I'll be gone for a bit, but I'll stay there as long as you need me." The old woman disappeared.

Poppy walked by and asked, "What kind of powder is that? I've never seen any that color before."

"Oh. My family lives far away," Molly said, glad to talk of something so ordinary. "Lancre is a bit different, see. In fact, when I got my letter it took Nanny and her friends a week to figure out where Hogwarts actually was, and then it was another week before they decided it'd be safe for me to go off to foreign parts like that. And it was half a year before I got used to a place having so many indoor privies. I was supposed to come back and apprentice to Nanny when I was done, but I married Arthur instead."

"My dear, you would have been welcomed anywhere you wished," Poppy said. "You know what I wanted for you."

Molly tried to smile. "I wanted Arthur," she said, and began to weep. "And now I've lost him!" Poppy handed her a handkerchief, then sat down and held her.

The keening took her again for a little while. But in the back of her mind, she couldn't forget her duty to her children. Once she had calmed down, she drank some tea and picked up the can of regular Floo powder.

The first call she made was to Gringott's. They would know where Bill was, if he wasn't actually there. The goblin she got was a nice one she remembered from when she and Arthur had signed the mortgage on the Burrow and found Bill for her.

Her oldest son was glorious beyond anything she could have imagined when he was only a baby. What a man he'd grown into! And now she was going to make him older. "Mum?" he said cheerfully. Then his smile faded. "Are you all right, Mum?"

"No. Your father died this afternoon. I brought him home. I need you, Bill. Can you get away soon?" She didn't want him to risk his job, no matter how badly she wanted him here.

"Yes," he said. "They were going to send me to Egypt again, but that wouldn't be till next week. I'll be there in an hour." His face turned grim as he broke the connection.

Charlie would be harder to find, but she contacted a friend of hers in Romania who promised to have Charlie find a proper fireplace and some Floo powder as soon as possible.

That was two of them. Percy already knew. The twins had to be next. She Floo'd their little shop on Diagon Alley. George answered. "Halloo, Mum! I hoped you'd call or owl—I heard there was an explosion on Knockturn Alley, and that Dad might have been there. I couldn't find anyone at the Ministry to answer me, and nobody at Hogwarts knows anything for sure, or is saying anything."

"He was there," Molly said faintly. "He didn't…he didn't make it, love. I brought him home from St. Mungo's not long ago. When can you come home?"

"As soon as I find Fred and we close the shop," George said, his lower lip trembling. "Oh, Mum! It can't be true!"

Molly swallowed hard. "It is." This was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life.

"Will Percy be coming home, do you think?"

The twins had taken their older brother's desertion from the family harder than anybody else. "I don't know, love," Molly said, trying to make her face harden instead of dissolving into tears at the terrible road her third boy was traveling now. "I hope so."

George looked away for a moment. "Both of us will be good if he does, Mum. We owe you that much."

"Thank you," Molly said. Now came the last call. She soon reached the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was there, looking sad. "I know, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I know."

"I have to tell my children," Molly said.

"I've already had them called. They will be here in just a moment. Your husband will be sorely missed by all of us, you know."

"Yes," she said numbly. _I wonder how many he's seen die over the years? Does it still hurt him, or are we just numbers in his game?_

She waited at the Floo, silently, until her children came in sight. Oh, yes, Albus had remember all three of them. Their faces told her that they expected bad news—no doubt rumors had been flying already. Well.

"Your father is dead," she said. Best to get that out first. "He was going after some illegal imports in Knockturn Alley, and whatever it was blew up in his face. Something to do with dragonbane, Healer Williams said. Arthur…he died, oh, not long ago." She bit her lip to keep from weeping. She had to be strong for the children—it wasn't fair to Harry, who had only gained a father less than a month ago. It wasn't _fair…not to any of us!_ Her heart kept breaking at the worst moments. But there weren't any good moments now, not with Arthur dead.

"I want you home till he's been put where he needs to be." She was tempted in some ways to lay his body to rest near the shed where he'd spent so many happy hours puttering with his Muggle gear, but no, he would rest with so many other Weasleys at the back of the garden. That part was so heavily warded that no one so far had been made Inferi or otherwise interfered with them for over a century. "The others are coming home for this, too, of course. But I need you _now_." Yes. She needed all her children around her today and would hate it when it was time for them to depart and leave her in an empty home. Whatever would she do then? Even preparing food for the Order at Grimmauld Place would be preferable to that, though she didn't know if the place would be open for them. That would be another thing she would have to do on her own—take Harry there with Sirius Black's will and see if the house accepted them. It was dangerous there now, or so she'd been told. Maybe she should do it sooner than next summer, even with Harry underage.

"Just come home," she whispered, and held out a hand to them to take them through the Floo. She gathered all three of them into a big hug, more for herself than them, though she expected they needed it too. Their gear could always come later.

Hermione knew something was wrong the moment Ron and Harry left the common room with an overnight case. Everyone had had a decent time in Hogsmeade, even with Snape glooming about looking ready to take points for breathing too loudly again. But as soon as they had returned, McGonagall had summoned the two boys and told them to bring some extra clothing and their good robes. She didn't know what had been said, but the looks on their faces said it was bad. And she wasn't really part of the family. Not yet. And she didn't know if she ever would be…Ron seemed certain of it, but some days her heart simply wasn't up to returning the love that she knew he felt for her. Oh, she knew what—or rather, _who_ —was in the way of the Perfect Weasley Family in her future. But some days she wanted Molly for an extra mum enough to disregard what she really wanted. Especially since it was clearly impossible anyway. She was lucky that nobody but she knew where her heart truly lay—except maybe Winky—so she didn't make a fool of herself.

She went up to her bed, carrying a book for camouflage, and cried her heart out on the pillow. She _could_ be a good wife to Ron, though sometimes she felt like a substitute mother to him instead, and sometimes to Harry, too. Her own parents were so proud of her self-sufficiency, that she didn't know how to appeal to them. And McGonagall was much in the same line—besides, the boys were always more important to the tall Scotswoman than any of the girls, she'd seen that her first year. _What a fool I was to think that exceeding expectations would garner me any attention from any of the staff—I just convinced them that I never needed their help that way._ Then she sobbed all the harder, thinking that no one would ever support her the way she wanted, because, after all, her job in life was to be the support of others and never need anything for herself. The few times she'd flared up emotionally, she'd been dropped for days afterwards—it hadn't taken her long to figure it out that she'd never have any friends, at least not in Gryffindor, unless she went along as the boys' universal donkey.

And since she was certain the latest news was bad, the boys would need her more than ever. Hermione sighed, wiped her tears, and packed an overnight case—they would remember her eventually, she supposed, and she should be ready.

The next day, McGonagall called her into her office. By that time, the entire school knew that Arthur Weasley had died in an explosion in Knockturn Alley, though there were rumors about a second person caught in it as well that nobody knew the details of but didn't mind making them up. The identity of the man ranged from Mad-Eye Moody, to some anonymous Auror, to _Snape_ , of all people, which was especially silly since everyone had seen him at Hogsmeade at the same time Arthur Weasley was killed.

Then she remembered her third year—and _then_ she remembered her fifth, where they had been _told_ the Time-Turners had all been destroyed. The Ministry _always_ told the truth, as did the Headmaster, of course.

Hermione closed the door behind her as she entered the office with her bag in hand. "Oh, dear, you didn't have to go to that extra effort," McGonagall said. "You will, of course, be released to go to the gathering for him on Tuesday, but you need not go to the Burrow till then."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said. _Then why did you bloody well call me in like this, when a note would have done just as well?_ She sighed, knowing that what she felt wasn't important.

"I do want to pass along a message from the family, though. Young Ronald misses you and wishes you were there, but you do understand…" The older woman had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Of course I do," Hermione said. "Will I be asked to stay the night, or return to school once the ceremony is over?"

"That will depend on how Mrs. Weasley feels, naturally. I daresay she will be pleased to have you stay, considering how useful I know you will make yourself there. I know that young Mr. Weasley will be delighted. He is not always slighted by his family, but I can see that he does end up lost among them all at times. You are quite a light in his life, as I am sure you know."

 _And I will solve several problems at once, since Harry will be drawn in, too, and Mrs. Weasley will have more time to spend with the twins or Bill._ Hermione was under no illusion about who were the favorites in that family. She supposed she ought to count herself lucky that her parents had not yet become targets, but also realized that it was only a matter of time till they ended up on _someone's_ list.

"I will leave this behind, then. May I send it for it if…?"

"Of course, dear. I know what it's like to be known as the dependable one. Don't worry, the time will come when you will find someone you may lean on as well. Mr. Weasley is not as immature as he seems, and at some other time will likely offer his shoulder instead of you always having to be strong. Not now, obviously…"

Hermione bit her lip and made sure her voice didn't quaver. "I shall be aware of the timetable, Professor."

McGonagall sighed. "I know, it must seem that some of us—many of us, rather—seem to think you erupted at age twelve from the brow of Zeus and fully mature save for body. Trust me, I know the feeling. Although I know this sounds like more of the same, I wish you had a hobby or activity that allowed you some outlet for your emotions. I know someone who finds great relief in blasting things out in the Forbidden Forest, and you have heard about Harry and his boxing classes. I understand Slytherin has a young lady as Beater this year, though obviously I won't ask you to play Quidditch. However, practicing your flying might be helpful once you are past the terrified part. I am not someone who believes all witches should simply sit and embroider things—good, honest physical activity of some kind is often quite helpful to sort things out."

Hermione knew her House Head was right. She was beginning to enjoy flying a little bit, as long as she wasn't too far off the ground and her charmed cassette player had the right music on. She had never been big on choreography—gravity sucked—but she was starting to think it was bit more fun on a broom. "Um…is there such a thing as broom dancing?"

The other woman blinked. "Not for a very long time, though Professor Binns, when he was still alive, of course, was rather good at it with his wife. Professor Lupin brought his Victrola—you could inquire of him about what kind of records it takes."

"Professor Flitwick helped me with a charm for a Muggle cassette player, but it's really only for one listener," Hermione said. "And the songs on it are um, more modern...but I haven't ever heard or read anything about music and brooms here in the Wizarding World."

"It's something that the purebloods used to do, though it seems to have fallen out of fashion. But if you wish to start some sort of club up like the other one you tried to organize, you might have to wait till spring unless we can arrange some flying practice inside. Winter weather has held off rather longer than normal, but I suspect it will begin soon, and be nastier for having waited so long. However, once certain students write home to their families and discover their grandparents are ecstatic to see their progeny take up the old art, and their surprise that a Muggleborn is spearheading it—well. You may find more support than you think. But please, don't feel you have to organize everything once you've started it, and allow yourself to be instructed by others in some things. You deserve to have _fun_ with something for once."

Hermione blinked. McGonagall sounded like she spoke of this kind of thing from experience.

Then her House Head turned practical. "I have a list of work that you may wish to start this weekend, if you have time, so you may depart on Monday with a relatively free mind. Here it is."

Hermione gratefully accepted the list. When she was deep into book-fu, things didn't bother her as much. Yes, it was an escape. But it was _hers_.


	4. Chapter 4 : The Burrow

Chapter 4

Molly Weasley reluctantly let her three youngest children leave her embrace. There was work to be done. She set Ron to answering the door for when the neighbors came, and Ginny to making tea. Harry wasn't sure what to do, so she set him to cleaning off the table and scrubbing it down. They would need it that way soon.

She dallied in the kitchen getting a basin of warm, soapy water and some clean rags _. I_ _don't want to do this alone,_ she thought, but knew this was too much to ask of her daughter. Molly forced herself to keep walking towards the bedroom where Arthur—no, his body—lay.

He looked less natural now, even under the preservation spell. She nearly dropped the basin. Then, with shaking hands, she set it on the nightstand. Oh, this was too hard! It wasn't fair! She hung onto the bedpost for a moment, steadying herself, then went back for the rags.

Entering the bedroom a second time was even harder than the first. It had been a long time since this place had contained a deathbed. Since then, the room had been a wellspring of life and beginnings.

But now it was time for an ending. Molly bent over and kissed the cold forehead. But she didn't say a word, because she knew if she once opened her mouth, only screams would come out. The children needed her to be strong.

She dipped one rag into the water. The warmth comforted her a little. She washed her husband's face first, though it didn't really need it. For a moment, she pretended he was only sick, and she giving him a bit of a bath to get the nastiness off.

It was so quiet. _Wait_ , she thought. _I forgot something_. She went to the closet and picked out Arthur's best dress robes and everything else clean to go under it. She knew most of the Ministry would be coming to send one of their own off. She'd hock everything she had down to her shift before letting any of them sneer at her darling.

She laid the clothes over a chair. Then for a moment she stood there trying to remember what to do.

Yes. Arthur. She must clean and dress him, though she'd have to use magic for some of it, given his weight. Better that than calling in Ron or Harry for help in lifting. She mechanically began washing her husband's face again, though she vaguely remembered doing it already.

Then she heard all three children exclaiming over someone who'd come through the Floo. She dropped the rag and went out to the parlor. "Nanny? Oh, Nanny, I'm so glad you're here!" Molly was both taller and wider than her dear old grandmother, but she still buried herself in the older woman's embrace.

"There, now," Nanny Ogg said. "This is a hard thing, but we'll all get through it."

Once everyone untangled themselves from the knot they made in front of the fireplace, the small, wizened woman patted both Ginny and Ron on the head and told them to keep on with what their mum had told them. Then she followed Molly into the bedroom.

"What you need is a stiff drink," Nanny said, and sat Molly down by the bed while she fetched something.

She was back in a moment with a bottle from the high cupboard. "You can howl all you want later, but you know as well as I do that there's work to be done."

Molly nodded and drank the whiskey as if it were medicine. "I tried to make a start on it before you got here."

"There's some things no woman should have to do by herself," Nanny said softly. "Why didn't you call in your daughter to help?"

"She shouldn't have to see her father like this," Molly said. "She's only fifteen, and a good girl."

"Unlike someone I could name," Nanny said with a wicked glint. "How on earth did that happen with a daughter of _our_ family?"

"Tom Riddle happened," Molly said. "When she was eleven. She never told us all of it, I'm sure, but she never looked at boys, well except for Harry, of course, till last year."

"Ah. Nasty bit of business, that," the older woman said. She frowned a little. "But if she's looking now, it could have been worse. I've known women turned sour for life from that kind of thing. And here I thought your school was safe. We were that glad you got the letter when you did, as early as you blossomed. Nobody in the village expected _you_ to wait as long as you did to get married."

Molly smiled faintly. "And everyone here was surprised, because they thought it was so soon," she said. "Different worlds, right enough. Once I met Arthur, there was never anyone else after that…" Her lips trembled as she looked at him, lost to her forever.

"Oh, lass, here's another tot. There, that should do it. Now up on your feet and let's get this done. When some of the men show up we'll have the table moved into the parlor and set him out properly. How do they do it here? We always bury ours, but I know some go for burning."

"He'll be buried, but he didn't have his wand when they found him. I want him just past the back garden till we find it, though we won't need a coffin. A wizard shouldn't go without his wand, it's just not right."

"In the big city it's staves, but then they're not supposed to marry in our part of the world anyway," Nanny said absently. "Damn! Water's gone cold."

Molly fixed that. "That's one reason I've never sent the boys your way, no matter how bad it got here," she said, soaking a rag in the water. "I can't see them putting up with that law."

"Like that would stop your Bill from landing any girl he wanted!" Nanny said as she briskly removed Arthur's hospital gown. "Oh, he's got the brightness on him, that one. I'm surprised he hasn't given you grandchildren already."

"I've got a spell on his clock hand that'll tell me if he does," Molly said. "But he's been careful enough so far." She gazed at her husband's chest—the scar from last year's snake-bite had faded, but could still be seen, while his hair was starting to go grey there, too. She almost bent over and wept on his shoulder, but the warmth of the whiskey helped her stand firm. "Is Mum going to come?"

"I sent a message by the Long Man to let her know. But it's going on to winter in her forest, and she may not get it in time." Nanny Ogg shook her head. "Never thought she'd pick the maenad side of the family, but that's the way it happened once you and your sisters were able to manage."

Molly nodded. She was the only one of the girls to get the witch powers. Shirl had gone off in the woods with Mum, while the other three were ordinary, at least as ordinary as any woman related to Nanny Ogg could be. But then, she was the only one related to the Blacks, too. Mum had always been generous with her favors. "Isn't it strange, how we all turned out?"

"Oh, you could have ended up a maenad yourself, dear," Nanny said. "You've still got that part of you. But it's a bit late to choose it now, and if you did, I suspect there'd be a price."

Molly could guess what it was. Witches lived a long time, but maenads counted about the same number of years as Muggles, though they had powers and strength far beyond that of normal people. Both Mum and Shirl looked younger than they should, but when the time came, would go just as swiftly as if they had aged.

She and Nanny Ogg began cleaning in silence. Molly heard Ron doing his duty at the door as neighbors came by to offer their condolences and drop off food. Soon she would have to take over that duty, once this one was done. Ah, Merlin, how was she to face those horrible people from the Ministry who had treated her husband so badly?

Then Rita Skeeter burst in the room, accompanied by Ron. "Mum, I tried to keep her out!" her son said.

The reporter already had her notebook out but had the decency to look appalled once she realized what was going on. But she didn't back out, either, not even with Ron tugging on her arm.

"As you can see, we're busy!" Molly said, her temper flaring up. "Either help or get the hell out!"

Ron left the room, wise boy, before he ended up in the middle of _this_ one. Skeeter held her ground, though she put her notebook away. Her eyes glittered behind her glasses. "Hand me a rag, then," she said.

Molly blinked. She hadn't expected that.

Nanny Ogg gave her a damp cloth. "Many hands make light work, they say," her granny said, as if this was just another chore.

Skeeter grasped the cloth and began cleaning up Arthur's left arm. "This isn't the first body I've ever seen," she said quietly. "In fact, that was a little over twenty years ago."

Nanny looked fascinated. "Do tell."

Molly didn't want to know but listened anyway. Anything was better than thinking about what she was doing.

"Well, I was the first woman on the Daily Prophet to be allowed to write more than just the society page," Rita Skeeter began. "The old man didn't think it was quite right, so he sent me on the grisliest things he could find, hoping I'd back out. Back then there was plenty to look at, what with You-Know-Who and his friends making their first try. But this was an ordinary murder, and Frank thought he'd be rid of my silly ambitions fast.

"It was in Knockturn Alley, in one of the apartments above one of the stores." Rita's eyes lost their glitter. "It was three days before anyone called for help. See, the people in the place fought all the time, so nobody thought anything was wrong when it happened. When it went quiet, the neighbors just enjoyed the peace.

"But it was summer time, and they couldn't ignore the smell. So, Frank sent me to go in there along with the authorities to find out what had happened. I was working on an expose of the landlords there that let out the buildings but never kept them up, so I volunteered to write this one up. I mean, _three days!"_

She put down the rag for a moment and stared into space. "It was up four flights, almost to the top, and the stink worse with every step. I put a Bubblehead charm on to keep from throwing up even before we got to the right floor. When they opened the door, even the Auror almost puked. Both the man and his wife were dead, and everyone we talked to said they fought all the time. There were enough empty bottles lying around to figure out what about. Anyway, she'd been strangled, and he had a wand jammed into his throat, and dried blood all over the place." She paused, and wiped Arthur's arm again. "I made notes, but I knew nobody would really care. Purebloods come down in the world all the time and disappear, and only the genealogists really notice. It was funny they were living in a building owned by one of the rich ones, mind, but at best they'd be a footnote to anything I wrote.

"Then the old man who owned the gin shop across the street came up the stairs, wheezing like anything. The officers asked him what he knew and showed him around. Poor fellow almost threw up too. Then he asked, 'Where's the boy?'

"What boy, asked the Auror, and he told him the couple had a son who was home from school for the summer, and helped him out sometimes. Well, it was everyone's opinion the lad had run off, and who would blame him? But I started looking around. There was nobody else in the place that I could see, even with Lumos, but I remembered we weren't on the top floor and looked up at the ceiling.

"I saw a square cut out, and a loop of rope hanging down. I pulled on it, and down came a set of folding stairs." Rita swallowed. "There was blood on it, too, and a bit damp in the bits where the ladder-stairs folded. I was lot thinner than I am now and could fit up through the hole."

Nanny made a sympathetic sound. Molly bent forward eagerly.

"It was dark up there. I wished I hadn't put on the Bubblehead charm then, in case I missed something, but was afraid to take it off. I'd hate to have to tell Frank I couldn't hold in my stomach, if nothing else. But even with _Lumos_ I couldn't see anybody. I even looked under the bed, and to be honest, I was glad nothing was there.

"But then I tripped over something as I went around the other side of the bed. Someone's foot was sticking out of a crawlspace. I brought my wand close enough to see better, and the boy the old man had talked about was curled up in there. I thought he was dead, too, till I got close enough to feel he was warm yet. I didn't know how to move him, but I knew I had to. I finally levitated him out. I don't know how he fit in the crawlspace, as tall as he was, and it was tricky floating him down through the hole, he was curled up so tight. He didn't say anything, only moaned a bit."

"What happened after?" Molly asked, her heart breaking to know that any child could end up like that.

"Went to St. Mungo's. There never was a trial, really. It was all too obvious what happened. In fact, the boy's testimony had to be taken by Pensieve, since he refused to talk for a couple of weeks. For all I know that memory is still stuck in a back room in the Department of Justice somewhere." Rita helped Molly get Arthur's shirt on after washing all his torso.

"Why didn't they give it back?" Nanny asked.

"Would you make a kid remember something like that?" Rita said. "They wouldn't put something that awful in again. When they let the boy out of the hospital, the Aurors had his clothes and wand, while the rest went for back rent. I went to see to make sure everything was done right. I felt sort of responsible for him, after everything."

Molly was touched that the reporter could be a human being. "Did he go right back to school?" That would have been the best thing.

"No, there were still a couple of weeks left. The old man who'd asked the police about him volunteered to keep the lad, but an Auror in Vice that I was seeing at the time said it wouldn't be right and asked me if I knew someone else who wouldn't mind. So we let him sleep on a couch at the Prophet till it was time to go on back. He earned his keep, though—he fixed a problem we'd been having with the ink all summer. We had a whip-round to buy his books and made sure the headmaster knew the boy had to find someplace to go once school was over the next year."

Molly thought better of Rita Skeeter then, though she still felt angry sometimes with the woman for what she'd written about Harry. "What happened to him since?" She remembered Arthur telling her about the boy, and how he had decided not to bring him home.

"Ah, now that's my business," Rita said, looking mysterious. "But he's never forgotten and sends me a bottle every Christmas."

"I wish I knew you worked so cheap!" Molly said, letting her temper flare. "I should have thought of that when you were writing all that claptrap about Harry! He's just a boy, and sometimes he hurts just as bad as the one you found in Knockturn Alley."

"Well, you're the right one to be his guardian, that's for sure. Let's just say I paid and then some for that mistake," Rita said, her mouth grim. "I will say the Granger girl had the decency to research my species and feed me properly." Then her face lightened. "Reminds me of me when I was her age, except I was a 'Claw, not a Gryff."

"What about the summer before last? That was pretty nasty," Molly said.

"I told you then and I'm telling you now, that wasn't me," Rita said. "That was all from an outside contributor—a bit of a _toady_ , if you get the hint. You know her yourself."

Molly flushed scarlet. Why she never thought of it, she didn't know. Of course, the kind of attacks made on Harry in the _Prophet_ were just like Dolores, who had stabbed others from behind even when the two of them had been roommates back in Hufflepuff. If it hadn't been for Mirabelle and Nancy she would have strangled Dolores herself back then.

"I apologize, Miss Skeeter," Molly said stiffly.

"Dear, if you can't call me Rita after doing this together, then there's no hope," the reporter said.

Molly sighed, and looked down at Arthur, now so very handsome in his best suit and robe. "Then you can call me Molly." Her heart broke all over again. She reached out and smoothed his hair, though it had already been brushed. "And I'm glad you were here," she said softly. "Nothing like a good, juicy murder to listen to. It must have been hard for you to talk about it."

Rita blinked behind her glasses, almost as if she had tears of her own to deal with. "Your husband will be missed, even if some of us don't say so," she said. "He was always a bright light of honesty among the rest of that lot. On my death, the Prophet will print a special edition where I'll say what I _really_ think of them. Of course, it's a good thing some of them know it already! It's kept me alive so far."

Molly joined in Rita's grim laughter. "How are things, really?" she asked after a bit.

"You know more about it than I do. If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."

Molly shook her head. "Not even a special edition of the paper would save you if certain people thought you really knew too much. Fortunately, I'm much too stupid to make any sense of what goes on around me."

Rita nodded. "You won't hear any different from me. A few nasty jokes ought to drive that home, I think. Be sure to pretend to get angry at me about them."

"Pretend?" Molly said with a grimace. Then she sighed. "If it saves my children, I'll owe _you_ a bottle every Christmas myself. Joke away, then, and may everyone hear it."

Rita nodded. "Oh, they will! Let's hope _everyone_ does."

Familiar voices reached her from the parlor. Molly rushed out to them. Three more of her boys were home now—Bill, with Fred and George right behind him. She tried to be strong, she really did, but she could only weep on her oldest son's shoulder. Bill led her to the couch, while the twins went back to the kitchen to bring out the table. Rita Skeeter departed rapidly, while Nanny Ogg held Ginny, who was also crying her eyes out.

Not long after, Arthur was laid out on the table, now standing in the parlor. Bill fetched a chair for her to sit by the head. Molly's head was spinning. This couldn't be real, could it? Only, as the neighbors began coming, she knew it was. She saw the look in Mr. Lovegood's eyes, and knew he understood.

It was real. Arthur was dead. Oh, Merlin, how was she to go on?

Then Charlie came, and she needed to be strong for him—he wanted to hit something, or someone, and she couldn't have that, not after last summer. Only Percy remained missing now, and she couldn't blame him for not showing up tonight. She desperately hoped that he would at least come here on Monday, though. Maybe Moody would be there, too.

Then she realized that half the Ministry would be here, too, though she knew that already; Percy would likely be at Dolly's elbow, and she knew, just _knew_ , that the twins would do something they thought was funny.

Despite her own pain, she needed to talk to each child separately, well except for George and Fred, who refused to be seen by themselves. She shoved Nanny into sitting by Arthur and talked to Harry first in one of the ground-floor bedrooms reserved for guests. He was the newest of her children, and she planned to work up the chain.

The two of them sat down in the quiet room. "Harry, sweet…Arthur loved you dearly, and I know you will miss him."

The quiet, dark-haired boy repressed a sob. "He came to Hogwarts to tell me about the hearing, and how soon it would be. Snape didn't seem pleased by the news, but now I know…I know what he paid for helping us win, I shouldn't have blamed him for it."

Oh, dear Bridget. _Snape_. Her heart had been so full of Arthur's death, she hadn't even asked if the dark Potions Master had been with Arthur or was even still alive. She would have to owl the Headmaster, if she ever had a moment to herself. Well, that would have to wait. Her children had to come first.

"Harry, I know you had to grow up so fast, but I'm still your mum. Weep on me all you want, tears sour inside you if you have to hold them for too long," she said.

Harry turned his face. Yes, he was too old now to cry on her shoulder; he was a man now, not a boy, even if it seemed that he would never be tall. He had been through too much.

"Don't worry, I will never tell anyone if you ever want to show your heart. They've tried to make you into a weapon for this horrible war, but if you ever just want to be a boy, I will always be here." She picked up his hand and held it. "You can come to me, any time of the day or night, when the burdens placed on you grow too heavy. I will always find time, somehow, even if the kitchen is on fire. It's not like I don't know how to deal with _that_ by now."

For a moment, she hoped that her newest son would lean into her as they sat close together. Then he straightened up and said, "Not…not today. There are so many there who would talk if I come out there with red eyes."

"They would think you had proper feeling," she said, but realized what he meant. "But I meant what I said. My arms will always have room for you."

He sighed, with a little shudder to it. And then he rushed out of the room, and she heard water running, probably putting cold water on his face so he could show the proper Boy-Who-Lived look to all the people gathered. He was right, though; they _would_ talk about anything he did.

Ginny came in next and didn't waste a moment falling on her with horrible deep sobs. "Dad, oh, Dad!" she whispered as soon as she could talk again. "I wanted him to walk with me at my wedding…and I wanted Harry to be my husband then, too, and now I've lost both of them."

"Oh, my love…" Molly said as she patted her daughter's back. "There's someone out there for you, and he'll love you all the more for having your heart free for him…"

"Or her," Ginny said with a small spark of mischief in her eye.

Molly almost laughed. "Well, won't there be a fuss with both of you fighting over the same dress, then. Sweetheart, when you fall in love you fall in love, and as long as there is heart on both sides, I'll teach her how to roll out pastry the same as I have with all of you."

Ginny sobered. "The spell is working on me now, Mum. Harry's just another brother to me, or mostly…I _hate_ having to give him up!"

"If he was yours to give up at all," Molly said gently. "Your dad gave him the choice, you know, how he was going to be part of the family. Betrothal charms don't replace true love, even if some pureblood families don't know any better. Here, wail on me some more, you have enough grief for two people."

Ginny obliged, and then went to the ground-floor loo to wash her face, as well. Ronald was next. He was pale, so pale every freckle stood out, and trying just as hard to be a man as Harry was. But he broke as he sat down to his mother, and Molly had trouble holding up his weight. Still, he needed her.

Once he was through with that first burst, though she suspected he would need her like this again, she looked at him and hoped he'd remember the dress robes she'd sent him—there was a growing spell in them, and they should still fit on Monday. She mentioned it and was shocked at how he changed. "Mum, they were horrible! Full of lace and even the house elves couldn't get all the mold out of them! I had to get rid of them, everyone laughed at me in them!"

"Oh, no…" she moaned. "I didn't…"

"Didn't what?" he said.

"Come with me right now," she commanded, and up the stairs they went, till they were in the attic. She muttered a quick spell to keep the ghoul out of their way and headed towards the long trunks and boxes. Most of those were old Weasley family things, though her hope chest was still full of small linens, now put away and waiting for grandchildren.

"Ronald, Ronald, how can you forgive me?" She opened the lid of a long box and nearly chewed her knuckles in dismay. "I sent you the wrong one, I can't believe I was so stupid…" The _Lumos_ from her wand showed a smartly-styled set of dress robes, in black with only a hint of blue, the color of her youngest son's eyes, in the piping. "This was what I meant to send, I can't believe you received those horrible old things of your uncle's? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought…I thought we were too poor to have any better," Ron said, his face now flushed.

"Well, there are five inches' more growth in these, I paid extra so you could wear them for a while," Molly said. "What you must think of me! Take these, and welcome, Oh, Bridget, I swear I'll never stint you again. I knew you had nothing but hand-me-downs for the last several years, and I meant to make it up all at once…"

This time, he let her howl on him for a bit. She levitated the box with the good robes in them down the stairs, there was that tricky turn to the left there…and she took the box straight to the room he shared with Harry. "Let me know if you've outgrown the shoes, I can extend them a little, though I made them be generous with the fit," she said briskly. Berating herself now would only make her son feel bad, and that wasn't right after this.

"Yes, Mum," he said with a choke in his voice. "But…what happens without Dad's pay for this house?"

"We have more laid by than you think, and you are _not_ to worry about it," she said, though she hadn't a clue right now what they were to do. "That's my job now. We didn't spend all that prize on the trip to Egypt, even though the paper made it sound like we did."

Ron breathed a huge sigh of relief. "All right, Mum, I won't worry. But just say the word, and I'll quit school to work in the twins' shop or somewhere else, since they wouldn't pay me the same as someone outside the family."

"I expect not," Molly said, aghast. "But you are to stay in school, Ronald, or I'll know the reason why. I want more for you than driving the Knight Bus the way that Shunpike fellow does. If nothing else, I'll take you to a chess tournament and bet on you to win all the way. Your father picked up a little from time to time at them, and you have the game in your blood like no one else in the family does."

Ron laughed, weakly. "I'll do us proud if that ever happens. Oh, Mum! What is to become of us?"

"We're still the Weasley family, and we'll have Christmas just like we always do. No excuses and no staying at the school this year to keep Harry company the way you have. And bring little Hermione, too, I'm sure she feels left out just now."

Ron had a look of panic in his eyes. "I'd better write her a note! She'd like that better than anything and will probably write me half a book in return."

"Hmm….well, Lockhart earned well from writing books," Molly said. "You'd best keep on her good side, or she might write one about you!" She thought about Rita Skeeter, who by her clothes wasn't starving herself.

Her son laughed, though there was still the sound of tears in it. With that, Molly went downstairs and prepared herself for the twins. Though there was no sense in it—they'd overwhelm a herd of Hippogriffs.

But this time, they were quiet. Both of them. This happened so rarely that Molly could count the number of times it had happened on the fingers of one hand. "Oh, dear," she said. "Your father was so proud of you. He never stopped telling me about your shop in Hogsmeade and now the one in the Alley. A good thing you _are_ twins, or you'd never be able to manage both."

"Wasn't so proud of us last summer," Fred said in a mumble, as he looked down at the floor.

"He didn't tell you?" said George.

"No, and I don't need to hear it now," Molly said. If something was so bad that Arthur had felt he needed to shame them, she thought it was better for them to worry about her finding out. "If you do anything like it again, then I _will_ know," she added. "But I know you miss him, however hard you try not to show it. I still have two shoulders, one for each of you, and when you need to lean on them, I'll be strong enough even if you outweigh me."

"Anything you ask, Mum," said George. "Anything," echoed Fred. There was a lot of relief in their voices and Molly made up her mind to find out just what these two had done _this_ time.

"Then I ask you to not make Percy's life hell when he comes here," she said sternly. "No matter how funny you think it is. He's working for Madame Umbridge now, and you showering him with Dungbombs won't help him there. Showering _her_ with them would be even worse. They are both likely to be here on Monday, and if he's not here before then, I'll have a quiet talk with him anyway that day. He's still your brother, and I will talk to Charlie about that as well. For once don't drive him away."

"But, Mum, we know what he said at Harry's hearing!"

"So do I, because I was there. And he was partly right. I left you with him when he was only a baby himself, because I was so worn out with Ronald and Ginny. I remember when you thought he hung the moon. When did you stop?"

They babbled about this thing and the other thing till she silenced them. "He's allowed to have a life of his own, and not spend it being your bear-leader. It was always two against one with him, wasn't it?"

Both boys hung their heads and muttered but didn't deny it. "So there. Yes, he's chosen his own path for now. But don't you dare make me lose him _now_ by the way you treat him. I don't know everything that he's up to now, but I don't know that with Charlie or Bill, either. Just because he's chosen not to leave the country like they have doesn't mean you have the right to force him to. He could, you know. Gringotts would hire him the moment he left the Ministry if he felt like working with the goblins the way Bill does, and he could spend the rest of his life in Switzerland if he pleased. Don't make him want to."

There was silence at that. She hoped it meant they were listening for once. "Well, lads, the offer of one shoulder each is still open for now. If you feel like it, nobody will know it from me."

George laid his head down on the left one, and Fred on the right, the sides they had chosen since birth. Molly was glad she was braced in a chair for the weight of them. Soon they were shaking with silent grief,

After a bit, she took out her handkerchief and had them blow in it. "I know you miss your Dad, boys. I miss him too. Now go on out and send in Charlie, and please don't turn your father's body any color but what he's already got."

That brought soft laughter from both of them, as she had hoped—although she rather hoped she hadn't given them ideas. _Ah, they've already thought of it, I'm sure…_

She snuffled a bit and freshened up the handkerchief. She'd have need of it soon, even if her two oldest boys didn't.

Charlie came in, slumped and sullen, and nearly refused to sit down. "Oh, Charlie, I understand you most of all, I think," she said, as she stood and opened her arms. "Will you let me lean on you a bit? I know you're furious at everything, I still am too. Arthur and I were supposed to age together like those two trees the Greeks talk about, and here I am without him."

He couldn't say no to that—and as he hugged her, she hugged him right back. She understood him better than Arthur did, in some ways. If Charlie had been a girl, he might have gone running in the forest along with her own mum and Shirl. No wonder he did so well with dragons, especially the bad-tempered ones.

He calmed under her touch, and then suddenly had to sit down. His sobs were probably audible all through the house, but it didn't matter. Some hurts were better taken out in tears than anger, though most men didn't think so. "There, there, he loved you just as dearly as ever even last summer when things looked so bad," she crooned. "I love you too, I have a horrible temper, too. I yell all the time…"

"Not all the time," he said, his voice muffled by tears.

"Enough," she said. "I'm not allowed to go play with dragons, see, and have to take it out some other way…"

"Come visit sometime," he said gruffly. "You can't be in the war all the time, can you? Can't lose _you_ …"

"What would You-Know-Who want with me but another cuppa and scones?" she teased back. "Those others, they have me go wash dishes in the kitchen when they talk about anything serious." She hoped lots of people believed that one.

"But _He_ will go through anyone to kill Harry, and I know you would stand in front," he said.  
"Just like I would stand in front of you," she said, knowing how jealous Charlie really was. She feared he would have said much the same as Percy had at the hearing, if he had been asked to testify.

"Oh, mum, that's what I'm afraid of," he said.

In her heart, she feared it too—but if someone tried to destroy any of her children, she would still stand that way no matter how her heart quaked. That was what mothers did. She would rather not die the way Lily Potter did—but she would make the same choice. Though she hoped she had better sense! Even now, in the heart of her family at a wake, she carried her wand where she could find it quickly.

"Then bring some of your dragons back home when we call," she said softly. "Oh, Charlie, I really am part maenad, and that means you have a share of that blood too. How can I be upset at your anger when I feel it just as much sometimes? I have only one thing to ask, my darling. I know you hate it that Percy isn't here. But don't go after him on Monday. We…we have to know what the Ministry is up to, and with Arthur no longer there…who do you think will be our eyes and ears there? I have to be cold to him, so _others_ will talk where he can hear, but oh, please, Charlie, don't fight with him. You can ignore him, you can glare at him, but don't make his burden too great for him to bear."

"It's always Percy with you!"

She knew that old jealousy. Percy had been born after several miscarriages, when she feared that Bill and Charlie were going to be all she was to have. "It's you, too. You know that I've always loved you. I tried to stand between you and Arthur those years before you left us for the dragons. Even though I didn't think they were right for you, I know better now. Come home to us for a little while without anger, love. If you must, go out into the woods and shiver out some firewood, we always need more anyway. If I can scream at the pigs when I want to lay about with my wooden spoon, then you can do this much."

He sighed. "Yes, Mum."

"Go out on a broom with the others. Harry thinks he's the best, so show him what an older brother can do." She knew that would spur him on.

"Hmmph. Where does—did—Dad keep the old Snitch?"

"Out in the back shed with his Muggle gear, though Heaven only knows what he might have done to it," Molly said. "I…I can't bear going out there, not yet."

"Of course not, Mum, I'll take care of it."

She knew Charlie would be all right now, after hearing that note of pride in his voice. She sent him out to have Bill come in.

Bill was a man, now. It would likely be too much to ask him to weep on his mum's shoulder, but she had it ready if he wanted it.

They both sat down and looked at each other.

"I'm the man of the family, now," he said, sober—or more so—as a judge.

"Yes, love, you are. I will ask a great deal of you for the next few weeks. Will Gringotts give you the time?"

"They will or they'll hear from me about it," he said grimly.

"You should be able to return to work after Christmas, but I will need you till then," she said. "I know how to do the household accounts, and to play the pools, but I don't know goblins or their business. We hid more of the prize money than people think, but I'm not sure how long it will have to stretch. The house…I think Arthur had insurance on it, so that should be clear, but that will depend on what the bank thinks, too."

"What about, er, what about your other business?"

"That business has to have its gold go for it," she said. "Harry inherited all that his godfather had, save for a bit for Mr. Lupin, and there's the house of course, but that might be a problem, as well, considering the other relatives that Sirius had. I'm glad to give what I can to it, even with just cooking and cleaning. You are not to speak to the Headmaster about it—but don't worry, if it means keeping this place for _your_ inheritance, and keeping Ronald and Ginny in school, I'll light the old wizard's beard on fire myself," she said with what she hoped was a light tone.

"Harry has a lot in his vault he doesn't even know about," Bill said.

"Yes. But if he gives me a Knut, everyone will know I wanted his guardianship for that and not for him. I'll find a way." Even if she had to find some rich old wizard who wanted a plump darling in his bed and kitchen. And…Xeno was hopeless with money, but with proper management, the _Quibbler_ didn't _have_ to lose money every month. But she wouldn't even think of such a thing unless matters were truly desperate.

"Ah…Mum, I hate to ask this, but one of the goblins teased me about you being the top beneficiary in someone else's will." Bill was almost stuttering.

"I have no idea who that would be," she said, though she lied. Would Snape do something like that just because of a lustful fever dream? Albus had assured her that he'd done the same spell on him that he'd done for Moody. "And I have never been untrue to your father, Bill. Not since the day we tested out the pitch behind the scoring shed." Her face felt hot all the way out to the tips of her ears.

"Well, Snaptooth did tell me the fellow left blood to swear nothing had happened," Bill said, but looked happier than he had before.

"Well, then. You and I can go over the books and papers and see what there is to be seen," Molly said. "And…if you want to cry on my shoulder over this, you have only to ask. I'm still your mum, even if you are more than a foot taller."

"I will," Bill said. "But I'll wait till the house is a bit less crowded. For now, I'll go on out and make sure all is well and that the twins haven't set fire to the drapes again. But who will _you_ lean on, Mum?"

"Why, Nanny Ogg, of course. She's twice the witch I'll ever be and has buried more husbands than Madam Zabini. But they were all smiling in their coffins, or so I'm told."

That made Bill laugh, as it was meant to.

Molly just sat by herself for a moment, preparing herself for the neighbors, well-wishers, and some who just wanted a gossip and a pie. _Oh, Arthur, whatever am I going to do without you?_

Once she was done, she got out and sent a message by owl. _Someone_ had to remember Snape; for all she knew, he might be dead now as well.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5—Let's do the Time Warp Again

Snape struggled in the flames, casting out enough sand to litter a Roman arena, but still not enough to keep the fire from eating away at him. It drove him mad to be stuck in Moody's aging body, though it was still strong, and dealing with a blasted wooden leg that for all knew, was going to catch on fire as well.

He fell, and he heard part of the building do so as well. _Damn you, Lucius, if it wasn't for your greed I wouldn't be here. At least Arthur is safe, which I hope gives you hemorrhoids. Lucius, I hope Narcissa hangs a rack of horns on your head!_

Then he was too busy staying alive, and then too busy screaming. The buckles on the straps that held the wooden leg on his 'stump' were heating up and hurt. He quickly unbuckled them and shoved the peg away. He coughed from the smoke, and the pain began to be too much for him to keep track of what to do. He slammed down his Occlumency shields to their maximum strength to ignore the pain as much as he could…his hand briefly touched the flask that held more Polyjuice…but something told him not to take any more.

He had to hang on. He crawled forward to what he hoped was safety the best he could, now that he now had only one leg, and the air was cooler and had less smoke near the floor. His magical eye helped him pinpoint the safest path, though that was relative, as nowhere was _safe_ right now. His lungs hurt as he breathed, but he was glad that the dragonhide boots helped protect his remaining leg as the flames crackled around him.

A beam fell, and Snape barely dodged it by rolling over into a smoking floor too near another patch of gleaming coals. _Gods, this hurts!_

He heard some voices, though they were barely audible over the noise of the fire. He didn't care if they were Ministry, Order, DE or chattering jarveys right now, he needed help! He didn't dare try to Apparate, it had taken all his concentration not to splinch himself this morning with being a different body shape than he was used to. _How the devil does Tonks manage not to lose her eyebrows every time she does it in a different body?_

Snape shouted, but that ended in coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs. It was almost as bad as when James Potter, may he rot in Hell, had filled his mouth, nose and chest with soapy fluid that horrible day.

At last…at last he felt himself change back. The pain subsided to almost nothing, except on his newly restored, but bare left leg. The harm done to the body of the grouchy Auror disappeared, but new pain flared up at the fire kept burning.

He felt dizzy from the change, and from the echo of the damage done to him. He knew little of the theory, but knew that Polyjuice had sometimes been used to change a badly injured person into someone else to buy time to take the victim to St. Mungo's.

Snape felt darkness spread into his vision and reached for his wand to Apparate…

"There he is!" Kingsley said, and levitated Snape out of the wreckage. He didn't know how the place was holding up, but hope it did so long enough for some other Aurors to come to help spell it together in case there were any others stuck in the building on other floors. He noticed sand on Snape's robes…now that was a good idea, water sometimes made certain fires much worse. He yelled at the others to summon that instead of Aguamenti's. Some of the stuff that old hag Nora made, the place could explode and not just fall apart.

The Potions Master didn't look too bad—at least that was what Shacklebolt thought till he saw the burns on the one bare leg. Why wasn't he wearing a stocking and a boot on it, the way the other one was? No doubt there was a good reason, and he would hear about it later, or not. Kingsley sprayed the leg with emergency balm, and then grabbed a light blanket and covered the injured man with it, all over, to make it look like he was moving a corpse out. It would probably be a bad idea for Snape's name to be attached to any of this.

Moody showed up to keep people not in the Order out of the area. Kingsley told him what was going on, and the retired Auror sighed. "He was me this morning, while I tried to get caught up on paperwork. I'll pop him back to the gates of the school and send up a Patronus to have Hagrid come get him."

"He doesn't look that badly hurt, but he's shaking like anything," Kingsley said. "Then again, he's on all those ghastly potions, I've heard."

"And we don't know how bad off he was before the Polyjuice wore off," Moody said. "Injuries don't carry over, but somehow they do, it's complicated. I'll send for Madam Pomfrey instead."

Kingsley nodded, and watched as Mad-Eye took Snape away. _I hope he isn't too rough on the man. You'd think he would have learned the night of the party, but he's been making comments again. The Headmaster might need to have a bit of a chat with the old fellow over it. There for a while I thought Moody and Snape had buried the hatchet, but now it seems like Moody wants to bury it, all right, in Snape's neck. I hope it's not over Mrs. Weasley, she has enough on her plate with seven children and Arthur to have to get out her spoon for Order members._

He added his magic to that of the other Aurors now beginning to show up—one crew to flood the ground floor with sand, and the rest to move forward, put out the fire, and restore the beams as they went. Tricky work, but this fire squad knew their business. He was glad _somebody_ did!

Albus answered the urgent Patronus—though, technically, he had received Poppy's urgent plea since she was at St. Mungo's. He had called for Harry and the two younger Weasleys already, and seen them off to poor Molly's generous arms. He popped himself down to the gates rather than walk; hearing of Arthur Weasley's death had depressed him. Snape floated there under a blanket as if he were dead, but Moody wouldn't have bothered to deliver a corpse—there was a bet that Moody would set up a bonfire and dance around Snape's when the man's death finally happened. _I think I may have to do the spell on him again that I did for both him and Snape after Molly healed them the old-fashioned way—it's clear that he's jealous of any attention that she gives Severus. For all I know, he's jealous of Arthur, too—well, he shouldn't be now. But that might make things worse, if she decided to remarry._ Was he running the Order, or a nursery school? That was a silly question after being in charge of Hogwarts all these years.

He quickly accepted custody of Snape, took over the levitation, and removed the blanket from the spy's face. The unconscious man took a deep breath, shuddered, and remained out of it. "Thank you, Auror Moody," he said, and made sure to keep the tone of his voice warm. "Please stop by for tea this afternoon, we have much to talk about. You probably already know that Arthur Weasley is dead, and along with his being someone we will all miss, we will have to set up another contact in the Ministry. I know young Mr. Weasley is increasingly valuable in his multiple roles, but I would hate to overburden him. We have seen the folly of that already."

"True." Mad-Eye grimaced.

"I suspect that Snape took a great deal of damage while in your Polyjuiced form," Albus added, as he used a simple diagnostic spell. "He seems to be more affected than I think is normal with the injuries and smoke inhalation. Who knows what was in that smoke?"

Moody bit his lip. "Damn it, Arthur was a good man, and Snape was supposed to protect him!"

"Given that Snape had to be rescued from the flames, and Arthur just somehow ended up at St. Mungo's, perhaps he did."

Moody looked down at the ground. "I'd like to know how _that_ happened!"

"We all do, Mad-Eye, and we will definitely investigate. Now I need to take Professor Snape to the infirmary, and hope he doesn't suddenly expire on us too."

That finally shut Moody up, and Albus walked back to the castle and hoped the raw weather wouldn't finish whatever had happened in Knockturn Alley had started. Still, his potions master didn't seem to be hurt that badly, save for the burns on the leg, but he could always go into shock somewhere along the way. There had to be a better way of retrieving people who were injured and taking them to medical care. But he didn't dare put a Floo in near the gates, that was just asking for trouble.

He entered the castle and put a Disillusionment spell on Snape; students would talk and perhaps write home if they saw Snape anywhere but Hogsmeade today. He hoped nobody was in the infirmary looking for Madam Pomfrey, either, though most of the ones who might get hurt were in Hogsmeade enjoying the rare half-holiday. The weather was moderately decent today, but was not likely to stay that way much longer, and the students and teachers had to deal with the bad all too often as it was. He hated the constant rain and snow himself, one reason he sometimes interfered with the charm in the Great Hall to show sunshine when any such thing was far above the clouds.

Albus arrived at the infirmary and wished the dear woman was there. Still, she had a right to her occasional time off as well, however badly timed it turned out to be. She was also going to consult with friends at St. Mungo's about what to do if she was overwhelmed by the number of casualties. She nearly had been when two Quidditch teams had been sent to ground after fighting—he still couldn't believe it was Hufflepuff's fault even after Rolanda Hooch had told him—and it was a still-convalescent Snape who had ended up doing triage on part of the intake. Yes, she really needed help, especially if the war made its way here.

Though it already had for Professor Snape, and it had taken near-disaster to make him see it. Well, he was a fool to wait who knows how long for the mediwitch to return, especially if she had decided to help Molly with Arthur. Albus called Winky, and had the elf remove Snape's stocking and boot, which bore fire damage as well. He sat down at the infirmary's Floo and called the clinic in Switzerland. "Is Master Lowenstein available?" he asked. "Professor Snape may need his help today, or at least someone there at the clinic." He hoped that someone was still there, given that it was later in Switzerland.

The receptionist appeared. "The master is not here, but his assistant Johann is. You can talk to him about the professor."

The flames blurred, and then a bright, cheerful young man with bright blond hair and blue eyes appeared. "Headmaster!" the young man said, whose voice even sounded like the unlamented former professor Lockhart. "What can we at the Institut do for you today?"

"Professor Snape had a mishap, and his right leg is burned, plus he has a small case of smoke inhalation. I am not entirely certain what fumes he may have inhaled," Dumbledore said. "An emergency balm was put on the burned leg, and he seems to be breathing all right so far, but I don't want to take any chances. I don't think any other part was affected, at least my spell didn't detect anything, but for once I would rather not take any chances." He certainly wasn't going to tell anyone but Master Lowenstein or Malachite what _really_ happened. Besides, Snape would be in safe hands at the clinic, even if Polyjuice shock was a problem. It was surely out of the younger man's system by now.

Perhaps it was the fellow's resemblance to Lockhart, but Albus felt uncomfortable around the man. "He probably only needs the leg looked after, and some supportive care. If he needs to stay a week, that's what he needs to do." He didn't like it, but at least they had a good cover story if need be. If nothing else, he could go down to Snape's lab and arrange a potions accident of some kind.

"Yes, yes, he always needs more rest than he will allow himself," Johann said. "I will make sure he is diagnosed here, of course, if you don't mind, and then he will sleep at least the next day after the burns and inhalation are treated. This will be a good chance to calibrate his potions and see what he needs for the next toxin release. Please, we will take him now?"

"Yes," Albus said, though he really wanted to wake Snape and find out what had happened. "In fact, I wish to visit as soon as he is awake again, I need to find out what potions he was working with before the accident since it may be unsafe in his lab till it can be cleaned and put back together again."

"Oh, come along, then. I will need to speak to him, too, if only for a short while, before I put him to sleep for treatment."

The Headmaster was hoping for an invitation like that, and eagerly accepted. He helped put Snape through the Floo on the stretcher, and then followed.

They went to an exam room. Johann fetched his wand and cast several spells. "Underweight and tired, as usual. The cream put on the burns should stay there, it is working well. I am surprised to see not much on the other leg, he must have been standing by the cauldron sideways when it happened. But see the sand there! He must have put most of the fire out wisely, since water will react to some potions. I shall put a pain charm on him now before waking him, it would not be right otherwise." Johann was as good as his word.

Snape's eyes slowly opened on the _Ennervate_. "Headmaster," he said with bit of hoarseness. He glanced around. "I am at the clinic?"

"Yes. Madam Pomfrey was gone to visit some friends. You seem to have had a lab accident," Albus said, his eyes flicking to Johann. "It would be helpful to know what kind of potions or ingredients might have been involved."

"Dragonbane," Snape said. He paused. "An Ashwinder egg or two."

"Professor, you work with dangerous things! You are lucky to not be hurt worse," Johann interjected.

"Yes, the results are sometimes fatal," Dumbledore said, willing his meaning to be taken by Snape, though he hated breaking the news in this way.

"Headmaster…something else I should know?"

Albus nodded, and motioned for Johann to back away. Once the young man did so, he put a Muffliato up. "Arthur Weasley ended up on the steps of St. Mungo's, and died this afternoon. Mrs. Weasley has likely already taken him home. I am so sorry."

"But he was all right! I sent him out back before the worst of it…" Snape took a deep breath and shuddered.

"You did all you could. I wanted you to hear it from me, and not have to find it out from the newspapers or gossip," Albus said. "I suspect you were hurt badly indeed before the Polyjuice ran out, so you'll take longer to recover than you think you will. I don't want you to worry. I will find something to explain your absence."

"The Ministry…"

"Will be looking for a scapegoat and not find him. Moody is prepared to swear that he was actually there, and Apparated out as soon as Arthur Weasley left the building, and there are few people currently in power that he doesn't scare out of their socks. Madam Umbridge, unfortunately, is one of them, but with any luck Percy Weasley will make sure she has other things to worry about."

Snape let out a hiss. "Throwing him to the wolves too…"

"Moody is watching the situation. Madam Umbridge will not ask too much of her assistant in that way, if only in fear that her former roommate will disembowel her. I do not think Molly Weasley would content herself with a wooden spoon if she thought her son was being taken advantage of."

Snape wearily nodded. His eyes began to roll up. Albus canceled the Muffliato. "I have spoken to him too much, I fear. I think at least a day of magical sleep, in addition to any other measures you need, will be good for him. Please contact my Floo at any time should he take a turn for the worse—I will have an elf watching it just in case."

"Of course. I will call you in the late morning, since it may be too early if I call when I wake up," Johann said. "I will tell Master Lowenstein everything, and perhaps it will be he who calls. Now rest, honored Headmaster, or perhaps I will have you stay, too. That is a joke."

"Of course," Dumbledore said. But if he stayed too long, he suspected Johann would stop joking and start waving his wand around. He departed for Hogwarts.

It was already late afternoon here, and he had tea served. Mad-Eye showed up just as everything was all laid out. "So, I see you found a solution without my having to swear to anything," the retired Auror said.

"I expect I did, though I am not quite certain of it right now," Albus said.

"You know someone is going to inventory Arthur Weasley's office and wonder where the Muggle artifact was that he'd logged in. I'm sure his wife can just tell them he took it home and let the Ministry try to find it in that shed he had in back, though. Especially since Weasley showed the Toad one that he said he'd found and had to deal with."

The Headmaster had no idea what Moody was talking about. "I am afraid I still don't know what you're hinting at even now."

"Ah. Haven't thought of it yet, then. Well, I'd better shut it, and let it come to you naturally. Wouldn't want to start up a loop, after all."

 _Oh! Of course!_ He didn't say anything, though, because Mad-Eye was quite right about the possibility of a loop. Well, if Snape could bear the strain of stretching time for a few days, it was probably the only way that would let the man recover in privacy and still leave him able to provide an alibi. "I suspect that Professor Snape would rather have been in Knockturn Alley, explosions and all, rather than supervise the children in Hogsmeade today." He had been lucky that the Weasley children, including Harry, had stayed at the school. Suddenly, he remembered that all three of them had been assigned to some kind of detention that kept them from going, though he was hazy about the reasons for it or who had given the detentions. Hmm…possibly there was a loop, or an alternate time reality struggling to be born.

"Things becoming confusing, I expect. We've used certain artifacts like that before, but things will settle down," Mad-Eye said with a grim smile. "But that's probably not why you had me come up here. Can you just say you read me the usual lecture on stop trying to screw over Snape, he has less time than any of us, and so on?"

"Yes, of course," Albus said, and sipped his tea. He knew better than to offer the other man one of his lemon drops. Moody had been on to him decades ago. "However, your feelings seem to be focused on Mrs. Weasley again. Would you like me to repeat the spell I did after she healed you?"

Moody had the grace to look down at his tea and find it very interesting. He sighed. "I suppose you should. I hope you did the same for Snape, mind you."

"Yes, I did, though I fear he has some emotions that have nothing to do with that. Is…is that the case with you as well?"

"Well, do the damn charm and we'll find out, won't we?" Mad-Eye said harshly.

Dumbledore complied. He could almost _see_ some of the anger dissipating from the other man. "Better now? It's said the 'jealousy is as cruel as the grave'. I'm surprised you didn't resent Arthur as well."

"It's…it's a bit better, but Molly Weasley is still a fine figure of a woman," Moody said slowly. "And things might end up worse before they become better if she ever decides to remarry. Why, even You Know Who could fancy the woman for himself."

Albus hadn't even considered that possibility. "I hope nobody tells _her_ that. She might take it as a challenge, and try to feed him up so well he won't want to take over the world." He hoped that was a joke.

Moody roared with laughter. "If anybody could do it, she could!" Then he looked sober again. "But seriously, there aren't many unattached women in her generation, and a lot of single men. She'll have her year to mourn Arthur, we all respect him that much, but after that she'll be pressured to make a choice. Kingsley and Tonks seem to have an understanding, so there won't be trouble from that quarter, but even the wolf might come sniffing around Molly if he thought he had a chance. Guv'nor, I know you like all your operatives to be single, but it's a hard life and no mistake. You have your memories, if nothing else, but most of us don't even have that. The purebloods on the other side would be like that, too, if You Know Who had his way, but their families make damn sure everyone is matched up that can be. Surprised they haven't found a bride for Snape yet."

Albus sighed. He hated it when Moody was right about this. "They've tried with Snape, but so far Mrs. Malfoy, Tom, and I can't agree on a candidate—not to mention Snape needs someone bright enough to keep up with him, and not someone who's ever been his student. That narrows it down somewhat."

"So it does," Moody said. "We need to set up a marriage mart for us, or they'll just outnumber our side in the long run. The Muggleborn aren't counted as good prospects and end up marrying each other, but most of their women don't want that many children either."

No doubt his old friend was right. He would not like to be the person to tell Miss Granger, for instance, that she had to bear three or four children just to keep the numbers up—though she was likely to be pressured into at least a couple if she wed Ronald Weasley. He feared the numbers of the Wizarding World would continue to dwindle as they had in the long years after the Great Plague of 1918. Granted, more Muggleborns appeared as the great pureblood families narrowed down to one or even no heirs, but the totals had been growing fewer even before Tom Riddle decided to sign up for the role of Dark Lord.

"Wartime often evens up the numbers," Albus said. But then, in that case society ought to have more single women rather than single men. "Should I start looking for a bride for you, Alastor?"

Moody nearly swallowed his tongue and vanished the tea that dribbled down his chin. "Don't joke like that!" he said. "But your point is taken, I'm being an ass again. You would think I would have learned from that shower of a party, but clearly I didn't. I still say Molly needs to choose again right smartly in a year, and make sure we all know it, or choose to not marry at all and make even _me_ know it, or there will be trouble."

"Hard to believe that a woman her age could cause so much trouble," Albus mused.

"Some people just smell pretty over the Wireless," Moody said, "no matter their age or even looks. We joke about Snape, but I don't think he would be hopeless to the right woman. Thank God, he put the Toad in her place, and I hope she's not carrying a grudge over _that_. Just as well she is mooning over Perfect Percy, when you think about it. Snape would want a real marriage, and the Toad wouldn't like that one bit."

Dumbledore briefly imagined Umbridge's reaction should Snape and her former roommate ever become a couple, and decided he would rather not. Pomona had told him stories of Dolly Matliff's occasional fury at all the boys sniffing after Molly instead of her, and didn't think the grown woman would appreciate a repeat. _I really am running a nursery school even with all the students fully grown_ , he thought. "You have raised concerns that I should look at, Alastor. I have been single for so long that I have forgotten that other people are different. Most of the staff here aren't married, either, so I forget what the rest of the world is like."

"True. Holed up here, you don't see the outside world sometimes except as a war between you and Tom. Now, don't doubt me, I see the war, too, but when the Auror trainees come in, half of them are already betrothed and the other half want to be. Or they belong to a family that expects them to carry on the family name. Very few end up like me, and that's a good thing."

Albus sighed. "I see what you mean. But for now, let us grieve for Arthur Weasley, and worry about the marriage market later."

"As long as you don't forget all about it," Moody said, as he levered himself to a standing position. "You tend to do that on things you don't want to do."

"That is also true." Albus stood up. "And people have died, or nearly died because of it. Don't forget to remind me if I seem to yet again."

"I won't!" Moody then left through the Floo to the Ministry, where things were likely to be even more ugly than on Knockturn Alley this afternoon. He did not envy Mad-Eye his colleagues there.

He sighed, and called in Minerva. He needed to remember that someone had to know everything he did.

She came in, and her eyes were red. "Dear me, things keep getting worse! I need to go to the Burrow soon and see what help Molly will let me give. Arthur was a dear man, and we will all miss him dearly."

"Yes, we will. Tea?" He poured for her. And then he told her everything, include how Snape was injured and that he was at the clinic, resting comfortably.

"Really? He just returned from Hogsmeade not long ago, grumbling about idiot students and he would have gladly put them all on detention if he'd had his way. Though it was rather helpful that the Weasley children and Harry had already been…" Her eyes narrowed, and Albus knew exactly what she was thinking even without Legilimency. "I daresay you'll need to speak with Madam Pomfrey fairly soon. So will I, because I think I might have been the one to issue the detentions for those three."

"Yes, I suppose I will." His head still felt muddled, as if something was terribly wrong. "I haven't written any of this down yet, and I don't think you should, either. I think I know what may happen—may have happened—and I need to make sure things happen the right way first. If that makes any sense."

"I felt the same way one night several years ago," Minerva said. "I was slightly unsettled all that year, I expect, and then that last night, the one with the full moon…Well. I don't think it would be a good idea for you to speak to Professor Snape until this is resolved. I suspect it's all from the same source."

Dumbledore nodded. "I expect you're right. I suppose I have been putting it off. Now I have to see Madam Pomfrey, then."

They both finished their cups and left the office. Minerva then asked, "When will he return?"

"It was a very good thing he was Polyjuiced, or we would be planning two funerals," Dumbledore said softly. "He was injured afterwards, but the echo was severe enough that I'm glad he's at the clinic…oh, wait, I really shouldn't have said that." Echo was right—echo of Hagrid speaking out of turn again.

"Never mind, I should have waited to ask. But I thought we should at least pretend to care." The Transfiguration mistress sighed. She nodded, and then turned a corner in another direction than the hall which went to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey was back at her desk, looking through some papers when Albus walked into the infirmary. "Arthur Weasley's funeral has been moved to Thursday," she said as she looked up at him. "And I think I know what you are here for. I should keep it till Wednesday. I know things are going to feel odd till then, but I really do think you did the right thing earlier today."

"How am I to avoid the professor?" he asked.

"I should send _you_ to the clinic, too. Someone your age might suffer from temporal displacement more than someone who still has a lot of time to work with. Have you ever looped before?"

"I almost did right before the end of the Grindelwald War," he said.

"Oh, of course. It's a common thing to try to reverse something you think should not have happened. It might be a good idea to ah, _supervise_ its next use."

Albus hadn't thought of that, but of course he suspected Snape would. "It doesn't work like that, unfortunately. I shall warn him, of course."

"Of course." The mediwitch looked dubious. "Well, I won't send it till Tuesday anyway. He's young enough that he needs more time to heal under the influence of this, um, object, than he would suffer from any displacement from using it. But yes, you should avoid him. I will tell everyone that you are extremely tired and must visit your cottage."

"I can't desert the Order at a time like this."

"Then go visit the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley can use someone else to fuss over right now to take her out of her grief, and I know you want to keep an eye on the family. You might have to share a room with the mob they have there now, but it won't be boring, I can guarantee."

He sighed. "I will visit them tomorrow, and then go to the cottage. I don't think they need me there right now. Tonight should be just for family. But please let me have the…item…now. I have a feeling that I'm going to need it."

Madam Pomfrey looked reluctant, but did as he asked. Dumbledore put into a special pocket in his robe that held anything in it safely. Then he went back up to his quarters and lay down for a nap. Surely he couldn't make horrible mistakes while he was sleeping, right?

But his dreams showed him that he could. Somehow, he was at the back door of some establishment in Knockturn Alley, watching Arthur Weasley being attacked, though he seemed to be alive as he watched the Death Eaters depositing him on the steps of St. Mungo's, and a Healer called to fetch him.

And then he was in Hogsmeade, talking with Snape…over and over again he was caught in the same scenes…

Snape allowed Johann to put him into a magical sleep. He had been given the chance to deal with his pain, but this time he chose to run from it. He knew that when he woke again, Arthur Weasley would still be dead, that building in Knockturn Alley would be a wreck, and the Dark Lord would want to know what happened. The echo of the pain he'd suffered while in Mad-Eye Moody's body still wracked his mind, while the burns he'd collected on his own tormented his body. No doubt Johann or Master Lowenstein would take this as an excuse to play with his potions again, or trigger a toxin release while he was there and they could watch the effects for themselves.

He awoke, and it was morning, judging by the angle of light through the window, since he was in the room they normally put him in. _Why did I survive when Weasley died? That doesn't even make sense…_ He was nearly crushed by the weight of guilt he felt for having survived once more when others died.

Snape looked up again when he heard the cough. Malachite sat there, and she had entered the room without him even noticing it. Well, he wouldn't have much longer to wallow if he continued with paying so little attention to what was around him.

"My lady Malachite," he said. "I would rise if I could." He felt horribly weak yet, and wished he knew what day it was. He didn't want to miss Arthur Weasley's funeral, or to go there and find the Ministry ready to cart him away.

"I have heard a little of what happened," she said gently. "Our friend back at the school told me more of it than he did Johann, which shows he's not entirely senile. Johann has some friends down at his tavern, you see, that encourage him to drink more beer than is perhaps good for him. He does not mean to gossip, of course, and yet it happens. So be careful what you tell that one."

"Ah." Snape struggled to push himself further up on the pillows. He was so tired of being disabled, one way or another. Still, his leg didn't hurt as much as it had earlier, and his voice sounded like he no longer had to worry about the smoke inhalation—God only knows what kind of fumes he'd taken in during the process.

She took out her wand and performed a _Muffliato_ , though rather shakily—it must be a new spell for her. "Now we may speak freely. You should not have been taken so ill—your burns were not good, but they healed rapidly, and the damage to your lungs was not great. And yet you were so exhausted that a magical sleep meant to last one day ended up sending you to slumber for two."

"There was more than that," Snape said. "I was Polyjuiced as someone else, and nearly died while in that body. If the potion had not worn off just in time, I would not be here."

"Ah! Now things make sense. I read about another man, though, who is dead in your land and shall be dearly missed, from all the paper says about him." She looked at him sympathetically.

"He wasn't supposed to die!" he cried. "I was supposed to protect him. I know he was still alive when I told him to go out the back. I don't understand it!"

"I am told this Knockturn Alley is a bad place," Malachite said. "Perhaps there were others who watched you, and took the one most likely to talk of what he found. Perhaps it was too dangerous for this person, or others, to try to attack you, and with the flames, perhaps thought that they need not make sure of you."

"That's what I want to think," he said, helpless to explain why it was so bad. "He trusted me to look after him, and now I must tell his wife how I failed."

"Ah…this wife, is she a woman that you care much for?"

He lay back on the pillows, gasping. Oh, hell. He might as well admit it. It wasn't like anything would happen—once he told Molly what had happened, she'd hate him forever. "Yes," he said softly, almost too softly for anyone to hear. "It's hopeless, of course. Once she knows how things went, I'll be lucky if she slaps my face only halfway to the nether regions, instead of just burying me in the back garden."

"So don't tell her."

He barked a laugh. "Of course. I've lived my whole life on lies…I am so sick of them. I can't lie to _her_ , not about anything"

"Well, then, one of these days you will have to tell her you love her."

"And have her face go sad, as she thinks of the best way to let me down," he said. His body longed for hers as it never had for Gerte. The one night with the polyjuice whore—oh, he would never do it again, but it had been worth it. That night might have helped fuel his newborn Patronus, as did the real kisses Molly herself had given him at the dinner.

"Or have her decide that she wants you, perhaps," Malachite said. "But I expect that is just as terrifying as her sadness to you. Tell her the truth now, and then leave her alone, as is her right. But just think, if you let her make the first move, then you will know for sure she cares. See, is this not easy?" she added with a mischievous smile. The light from the window shone through her white hair, and nearly shone through _her_ , at her great age and delicacy. She had lost weight, he thought, since he last saw her, and that made him sad.

"I will ask you to my wedding, should I ever have one," he said. "And I will ask you to dance."  
"Then I fear you will have to move quickly, perhaps more quickly than is seemly," she said, and her smile faded.

"Perhaps you should listen to those who love you, and let me brew for you. I have a Cruciatus potion that relieves the spasms much better than the standard one, and it might help you. If you lack appetite, I can adjust the potion somewhat, or perhaps you could take the appetite potion that I am taking now along with the other one. Though I've noticed that if I am taking the Crucio potion, that my appetite returns faster, since spasms occur in many different places and aren't good for the digestion under that curse."

"How do you know? Has my grandson been speaking out of turn again?" she asked.

"No, but I saw how your hands shake, and that's common with too many rounds of it," he said, delighted to get off the subject of Molly Weasley. "And when I mentioned the name of it, your chin jerked just a bit, as if you didn't want to hear about it. I have to be a keen observer, you see, in my particular trade."

"Hmm. There is no fooling you, I see. I suppose I will take all those foul potions if only to see the look on your face there," she said. "And you have to promise me not to die till then, as well. I should be very disappointed."

"So would I," he said. "But you have to promise to be sympathetic if she goes off with someone else or swears never to marry again."

"Ha! If that is the case, I shall find you someone more sympathetic. I tried so hard with Klaus…"

"He and Madam Pomfrey seemed to find each other congenial, from the little I saw of them when he helped teach my class," Severus said. "Perhaps there's hope for him, too."

"That would be nice," Malachite said. "I have longed to see him happy. And I think more than one person in your life would like to see you happy, too."

"I have learned not to place too much weight on anyone," Severus said, "but I have learned to put some weight on those who don't mind bearing it." It had been a hard lesson, though he longed for someone he could truly rest his full heart on.

"Well, that is certainly better than it could be," she said. "We all have to learn that some people cannot be trusted, and others trusted only for small things. I feel happy that you trust me with so much. And yet you can trust me more. Who was this Arthur Weasley, and what kind of man was he?"

"Braver than he should have been. He was growing bald, though he was only ten years older than me, and proud of all his children. He has seven, but had to strive to feed them all. I mean, _had_ seven…" He felt himself beginning to break. "He…he fiddled with Muggle things, and sometimes they even worked…" Severus swallowed hard. "He treated me like a friend—and he probably saved my life just a couple of weeks ago when I was dumped on his front step." He couldn't talk for a moment, as he tried to banish the growing moisture in his eyes. "He knew I…I had feelings for his wife, but he said, he said he didn't mind, that any man with good eyes would care for his Molly…and, and, I let him get _killed_ …" At that he couldn't speak any more, but turned his head into the pillow and let his weak tears flow.

Malachite said nothing as he wept. Snape recovered his composure and wiped his face with the tissue left for him. At least the paper didn't become discolored, the way they did when his potions bled poison out of him.

"You are right to grieve for him," she said. "He sounds like a good man, a man all too rare these days. You must work hard, though, to find out how he died. There is something wrong that he died when you thought he must live. Would this not be a treasure to lay at his widow's feet?"

When she put it that way, it was clear where his path now lay. Granted, it should be an easy task—he was certain that someone would boast of the deed at the next meeting—but it was certainly something easier to focus on rather than his shaky body and even shakier mind at this point in time. "You make a lot of sense," he said. Then he added with a martyred sigh, "No doubt I should ring for assistance and find out what kind of slime they intend me to ingest next."

"Oh, no need to call," she said with a wicked smile. "They left me your next dose, and some juice to follow it. You shall heal more quickly now that you have good reason to."

He rolled his eyes and let her help him gag it down. The juice to wash it out was a very good idea, though—quite possibly this was standard protocol in Europe, though perhaps it was just her kindness, since nearly all his potions here had been delivered without that kind of thing.

"There. I shall pronounce you a good patient, which will surely frighten them immensely, and my grandson will hasten to come see you just for the novelty," Malachite said.

"And I will owl you your potions as soon as I return home," he said, and tried to look menacing.

"I shall faint with anticipation," she replied. Then she canceled the Muffliato, and spoke into the largest jewel of her necklace. "He took his dose like a good boy, and now he should eat something light. And yes, I will lie down to rest now, so do not bother nagging me."

Master Lowenstein came in and helped his grandmother up and escorted her out of the room. He returned quickly. "I am happy to see you in better spirits than perhaps I expected," he said. "We read the paper and it does not take long for me, at least, to take note of the unidentified man rescued from the flames in Britain, and in a bad part of it, too. So far Johann has not asked too many questions, and is satisfied with your tale of a potions accident. But as my grandmother has undoubtedly told you, our younger friend talks too much. I shall find a way to send him to the free clinics more often, which is good for him in other ways as well. And yet you were weaker than you should have been for the injuries we saw."

"Polyjuice," Snape said, knowing the other scientist would understand with just that one word.

"You were lucky, then, that time ran out before you did," Lowenstein said. "So, it was the echo that wore you down."

"Yes, but not as lucky as the other man with me. _He shouldn't have died!"_ Snape shouted. Then he apologized. "I am not angry with you, more with myself."

"You had too much to do staying alive yourself, Professor. The life you lead is harder than it should be, and yet I do not see how to keep you from it."

"That's a debate I finished a long time ago, Master," Snape said, though he didn't feel the bitterness that he had in the past when realizing how set his path was. There were still things he could do along the way to make things more bearable.

"And yet, if you see rosebuds along the way, you can stop a moment to enjoy them."

Snape grimaced. He had learned that rosebuds didn't belong in his life. "I prefer a rose well blown," he said, though inwardly he shuddered at the memory of the woman he'd killed. For a moment, the darkness of the Second Mark burned his soul.

But he'd wallowed long enough. "Things to do, people to see…when can I be healed and out of this place?"

"If you will but try to eat well, and let us dose you, in two days, but no less. And that is only if you do all we tell you."

"What day is it, anyway?"

"It is Sunday, when all good people should be resting," Lowenstein said. "And yet you are a hobby of mine, one that I cannot seem to give up."

"I need to go back soon," Snape said.

"A funeral has been postponed until Thursday, so unless there is something else, you may as well lie back and rest without worry. All will be well."

Snape bit back a harsh laugh. He knew better than that. Then he sighed. "Well, for now."

"Ah, I finally hear you admit that! I shall win the pool we have on you…"

"I live to serve."

Lowenstein looked sober now. "Perhaps someday you will be allowed to just _live_."

Severus shrugged. "Things are better now, even if you had to club me over the head to start this program. For one thing, I can always blame it when I need to rest."

"Yes, if you are still in peril after this is over, we shall find you some other excuse. I will work diligently to find you a diagnosis that will allow this."

Snape appreciated that. He didn't know if he would live that long, but it would be helpful if he _could_ have time to recover whenever he was injured. He didn't really know how he'd managed last year, though the Time-Turner had helped.

He spent the next couple of days forcing himself to eat and drink as much as he could keep down, taking the vile potions, charting their equally vile side-effects, and hoping the set he would take back to Hogwarts weren't going to be as bad, though he knew better. The next time he was likely to expel toxins would be right at Christmas, oh joy, though he rather hoped they would wait till after that day. With any luck, the staff's hangovers would simply make them too concerned with their aching heads to bother him. Perhaps he ought to acquire a hangover of his own, though he just knew that his potions would interact badly with anything he liked to drink. Ah well. At least he was alive and hadn't lost a beloved family member…Molly might forgive him for his failure, but nobody else was likely to. Albus had reassured him on that point, but Snape knew better.

Still, he couldn't hide out here forever, unfortunately. He was certain the Dark Lord would want to know where he'd been these past few days; perhaps the excuse of the Swiss and their potions would serve yet again, but there was always the possibility of it not working any more. And his absence at the same time that Arthur Weasley died would be remarked upon, either for good or ill. Granted, eliminating a rival to the hand of some woman was nearly a matter of pureblood tradition in some families, but being obviously linked to it was not, except in a public duel.

And…his heart sank because once more, he'd lost someone who would actually listen to him and not just dismiss him for the sin of being a Slytherin. There were few such people in the Order—there were more than there used to be, and he was certainly happy about that, but Arthur had been more than just some insane Gryffindor seeking glory. _I wonder if anyone but me outside the publishing business knew about his little sideline with the Mad Muggle comic books?_

The time came for him to return to Hogwarts. Instead of being sent to the Headmaster's office through the Floo, though, he returned by way of the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey thumped his chest and waved her wand, then pronounced him sound. "I really shouldn't give you this, Severus, but it's necessary. You may be feeling stretched and odd, but there's a good reason for it. You are nearly to the limits of how long it's safe to use a Time-Turner. If I were you, I would go back for only several hours at a time, instead of four days at once."

Now he understood a great deal. He likely had returned to Hogsmeade and shown himself some more, and then returned to Hogwarts and taught these past two weekdays. The sooner he went back to Friday, the sooner he would begin operating on normal time again, though he would likely feel somewhat odd till Tuesday evening.

He smiled and took the device. "I will be quite careful with it, Poppy. I will have to go to Hogsmeade, though, and move backward in time from there." Oh, yes…quite careful indeed. Snape went out of the Infirmary, content in the knowledge that his other self was likely trying to keep his sixth year class from blowing themselves up—it would have to be a huge emergency indeed to have to leave the class, and so reminded himself to teach something routine but interesting, so that he would not have to leave the classroom for any reason and perhaps run into himself. _Crossing the streams, as the Muggles put it,_ he thought. He moved too quickly for Poppy to make sure he did all his time traveling in the private room, and then have the device taken away.

Once he was outside the gates, he Apparated to the back alley behind Nora's. Snape found a hiding place to watch. If nothing else, he could find out who had killed Arthur Weasley. He was fascinated to observe the arrival of several Death-Eaters in masks and robes. Though he tried to figure out who they were from the way they walked, he wasn't able to. For once they kept their voices down, so that didn't help, either. A pity that Lupin wasn't along with him, for once—the werewolf was good at picking out distinctive smells, though having to hide in garbage would make the task more difficult.

Then he heard the explosion from inside. That was the dragonbane. Snape waited, as did the Death-Eaters. But whom were they waiting for? He was supposed to have collected the Ashwinder Eggs, and then given them to Arthur to give to the Ministry in triumph.

Then Arthur Weasley charged out, covered in soot and panting for breath and fought with Bill the Spike, who erupted out of the shadows. One of the Death-Eaters pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Minister. "Stupefy!" said Nott's harsh voice. Weasley's mouth dropped open and he stood still.

"Mad-Eye must still be in there," said a woman's voice.

What was Lestrange doing here? Snape leaned forward to see a bit better, only to realize that the garbage he was stuck in the middle of was beginning to shift.

"Someone's over there. We don't have time." Nott shouted "Incendio!" at the garbage, but it was so wet that it only smoldered. Snape tried not to cough and sunk deeper into the trash.

"Must be someone too drunk to bother moving," Bellatrix said contemptuously. "But now we have the Muggle-lover, what shall we do with him?"

"Obliviate him and move on," said Nott. "No time for fun. Besides, he didn't get anything, and soon the fire will destroy the evidence."

Snape found himself almost praying the others would listen to Nott.

"Not without a souvenir," said a different man, who leaned over and took something from Weasley's robe. "Let him find the price of another somehow." Then they rendered him unconscious and let him fall. Who was that? He was big enough to be Rowle, though his light hair was hidden.

Then they left. Severus breathed a sigh of relief, though he didn't want to leave till the Aurors got there. Surely Arthur Weasley would be all right now, as long as he didn't breathe in too much smoke. He quickly put out the garbage, took a quick potion to clear the smoke from his own lungs, and gave a bit to Weasley as well. He Apparated to St. Mungo's and left his friend on the front steps, since the Death Eaters had failed to do so, and Bill the Spike might come back.

Then he Apparated back to the path to Hogsmeade just as the first Auror arrived.

Severus Snape used a cleaning charm on his robes, and was glad the chill breeze dissipated what was left of the smell. He walked into the village and made his purchases, feeling much lighter of heart. Surely all would be well.

He was in Rosmerta's a few hours later sipping some ale when she told everyone to hush as she turned up the wireless. The news had interrupted the musical program she kept on low.

A dreadful tolling sound came from the machine, and the announcer struggled to keep his voice from faltering as he informed the world of Arthur Weasley's death. The man might not have been respected by his peers, but he was clearly loved by others.

Snape bent his head low over his drink to hide his own reaction. It wasn't right! How had this happened? Weasley had been alive, and only unconscious from being Stupefied more zealously than usual. The Death-Eaters hadn't killed him; they'd merely stolen his wand. It didn't make _sense_!

He still had the Time-Turner. Perhaps he could go back there, a few moments after he'd left, and make sure that Weasley would survive.

"No," Dumbledore said softly, as he seated himself next to Severus at the shadowed booth. "It won't work."

"What do you mean?"

"He will still die," Albus said. "Severus, I should have told you this earlier. During the Grindelwald war, someone I cared for greatly also died. When I found that the Ministry had a Time-Turner tucked away and didn't even know it, I tried over ten different times to save her life. All I did was learn of her death, or worse, see it, all those times. I knew there was a chance for Buckbeak a few years ago because of the way McNair complained about the hippogriff's escape. But once someone has seen the body, they can't be brought back.

"Molly Weasley is holding him right now and taking him home. It was too late the moment he expired in her arms. If you use the Time-Turner too many times, you will end up lost."

"Miss Granger did not in her third year," Snape said stiffly. "And neither did I, last year."

"I should say, too many times in the same period," Dumbledore said. "I nearly became caught in a loop myself the time I tried it. You are even more stubborn than I am, Severus."

Snape looked down into his ale. "I will find out how he died if it's the last thing I do," he said.

"But you'll have to do it without the Time-Turner. Give it to me now."

"I still have to go leap at unsuspecting students and take points from them. I made sure to arrive here at least ten minutes after going back to the school, drinking the Polyjuice, and having Minerva help with the wooden leg." If he took Weasley to St. Mungo's himself and then disappeared, he could still make sure that the man survived.

"And I will make sure you go back to Hogwarts today, whatever day this is. Severus. But you must give it to me now."

"Why?"

"Because I come from a future where you didn't. We lost you, Severus. In that branch you are trapped forever in that alley behind Nora's. We've lost more than I can tell you." Dumbledore did look much older and more tired than Snape remembered him being in the 'future'. "Let's just say that I'm gambling the rest of what we do have to make sure that doesn't happen. I don't know if it'll be better, of course, but it certainly can't be much worse."

Snape sighed, and took the golden artifact out of his robe. "It's still not right for Arthur Weasley to be dead."

"I know. And it's not right for me to tell you to let your heart speak for you, and then complain when you listen to it. But please give it to me."

As Albus grasped the Time-Turner, he shimmered, then faded into nothingness.

Snape finished his drink, then took his time in Hogsmeade. After all, they needed time to rescue him from the building. Once back at Hogwarts, he would go straight to the dungeons and convince his Slytherins, at least, not to rejoice too loudly. Weasley was still a pureblood, however tainted with Muggle ways; and it would be bad politics to show one's hand too early. He'd make sure the Malfoys sent a wreath, at the very least. Hypocrisy? Why, of course.

At least he could take out his temper on those Slytherins stupid enough to smile.

He returned to Hogwarts and had a note sent to the Headmaster's office. He wasn't quite certain it was the right time for him to see Albus yet, because he wasn't quite sure when he had been sent through the Floo to the clinic. The return note, shuttled by Dobby, told him not to arrive before evening.

He took the time to visit Madam Pomfrey—once he had scooted the little darlings back to their common rooms, though they were much too full of sugar and mischief to care much about his threats—and she smiled wanly at him. "I'm sure you want to borrow the Time-Turner again, but I am _not_ giving it to you," she said.

"Well, someone has to give Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter detention earlier today so they would be here to be sent to the Burrow," Snape pointed out. "And I am the one mostly likely to do it."

"Already managed," Poppy said. "Minerva went back to this morning and caught them behind on their homework, and that they should stop having Miss Granger do it for them. Since this is a perpetual problem, they barely protested."

That explained the loop, if more than one person was using the device at the same time. He still wished he had been able to save Arthur Weasley, but grudgingly admitted that he wasn't going to.

He sat and had a cup of tea with the mediwitch, since he knew that he returned to his quarters, he would have people wanting to talk to him, essays to grade, and a few stomachs to soothe among his Slytherins.

Then Dobby popped by and said the Headmaster would like to see him now. Snape entered the office with just a wave at the gargoyles.

"I'm glad you made it back," Albus said. "Things were beginning to feel odd, as if you were going to make more than one attempt to save Arthur."

Snape told him about the visitation at the Leaky Cauldron. Dumbledore sadly nodded. "I was nearly caught in such a loop myself. I couldn't give up on her, you see. Fortunately, a friend of mine intercepted me in much the same way that a possible me found you."

"It should have been me!" Severus said.

"It shouldn't have been either one," the headmaster said. "But it wasn't you, and was him. Now we must go on from here, and influence only the future. For instance, the Weasley children will bear watching. Both Harry, who will likely be in mourning as well, and Miss Granger will do what they can for their friends, but we need all the adults here to keep an eye on them, too. That includes you, despite your many other responsibilities."

At first Snape clenched his teeth against the anger that rose in him at having this dumped on him, too. Then he sighed. It was his responsibility. "Let's just pretend that I ranted and raved for half an hour, and then you browbeat me into submission with a shower of lemon drops and some brutal trilling by Fawkes," he said, and sipped more tea.

"That works," said Albus with a smile, though he blinked in what appeared to be surprise. "Truly, Severus, it really wasn't your fault."

"But that won't stop you from using my sense of guilt to get me what you want me to do anyway," Snape said, though with less sarcasm than usual.

"Well, if you _insist_ …"

"Don't worry. But I'll still take points from them. You have to allow me _some_ fun." The Potions Master wasn't too worried about it. McGonagall would undoubtedly hover over them like a chickless hen, no doubt driving both-no, all three-children out of their minds, while Sprout would probably wish they were small enough to sit on her ample lap. Flitwick, though clearly distressed whenever his students had personal problems, tended to assign more homework to keep such children distracted. Snape rather liked that one. But even he had to admit he kept his students busy already. And how to pay the two Weasley children any special attention without distressing his Slytherins? Many of his Snakes saw him as their only bulwark against a hostile school. Many of them had already lost parents, too—some to death, and some to Azkaban. He shouldn't forget Mr. Potter, either. The adoption rite had, no doubt, affected him as well.

Most of his evenings were already taken up with detentions and meetings, and those were just the ones here at Hogwarts. He hadn't paid as much attention to the Weasley boy as he had to the Boy-Who-Annoyed-Him or the know-it-all, while young Miss Weasley seemed to revel in the attention of the young gentlemen who thronged around her. However, Snape could only guess how much effect being possessed by Tom Riddle in her first year had had on her. The support of the Gryffindor Quidditch team would probably help all three.

He finished his cup. He'd think of something. If nothing else, both Ronald and Ginevra were easily provoked into earning detentions. Perhaps he could manage something helpful during those. And once the winter weather closed off Quidditch for the year, he would have the Weasley boy for a 'personal assistant'. If nothing else, Winky would enjoy feeding the boy. In fact, he ought to use food rewards with Mr. Weasley, or simply feed him the moment he arrived. Or perhaps both. No doubt he would be rewarded with sullenness and bad temper, but if Winky could manage _his_ moods, she would likely make headway with the boy. He shouldn't attempt to see the girl too often, though, that would be remarked on. Minerva, and possibly Madam Pomfrey, should take the lead with her.

Then he received a note to all the House Heads that Hogwarts would be on holiday, if you could call it that, on Thursday afternoon, and that Dumbledore would be away from the school till Tuesday evening for personal reasons. That made sense…if the Headmaster had been through a loop before in his life, and successfully inserted himself into one just today, he was likely worn out, though he hadn't seemed so in his office.

The pile of essays and Winky with a tray for supper somehow looked more alluring than going to the Burrow just yet.


	6. Chapter 6: Saying Farewell

I really, really apologize for taking this long. Thank you so much to BlueWater5 who beta'd this much more quickly than I got around to editing and incorporating her helpful changes. I have been working in the tax preparation industry (April 15th is coming, yay), working on original work, and otherwise sucked into other activities. But I hope you appreciate this chapter.

Chapter 6: Saying Farewell

Harry felt horribly out of place, even with him being adopted by this family, but stuck to Ron as much as possible. He'd wanted to run away the moment he saw Skeeter come in but thought that his new mum should have to right to Petrify her, or whatever. He was really surprised not to hear any explosions or screaming, and when she walked out with Mum _talking_ to her, he was amazed. He still ducked for cover, though, in case she wanted to interview him.

He didn't know what to think about the way Molly had talked to him in that little room in back of the kitchen, though. His shields had been acting weird ever since he and Ron and Ginny had been called to the Headmaster's office. The three of them had been laughed at by Hermione for the homework thing earlier in the day, even though it wasn't as true as it used to be, and they had even listened to her when she brutally assigned them reading material. Quidditch was about over, but the team had planned to get together on Saturday or Sunday.

He loved the Weasleys, and his heart ached at losing his new dad. But things just didn't _feel_ right without Hermione here. He almost wished that she could be blood-adopted, too, if she and Ron never ended up together.

There were so many people coming in and out, and he didn't know any of them, but he helped out wherever he could. He was good at doing dishes, even though he didn't know how to wash them magically the way his mum could, so when she was busy talking to people, he'd sneak into the kitchen and wash up. There were always more, plus there was a ton of food coming in. He had to ask Ginny what to do with it, since they didn't have a Muggle refrigerator here. She shot him a grateful look, and showed him the special cupboard where food could stay preserved without going bad. She also kept the twins from coming in and ragging him about doing women's work, or whatever, which he was also grateful for. They kept wandering around, looking for something or someone to have fun with. Harry wished it was Monday, so all this could be over and his heart might stop feeling like a washrag someone had stepped on.

The next few days came and went in a blur. Harry didn't know what to think about the funeral being postponed till Thursday, though when he heard that the Ministry had some special stuff they needed to take care of to show their solidarity, or whatever, it made him feel a little bit better. Ron was horrible to be around, though; he wasn't eating or sleeping, and that wasn't like Ron at all.

Ginny asked them for help with the pigs in the barn, since Molly wasn't remembering things very well. Harry could only imagine how hard it must be for her—if he loved someone for that long, he didn't know how he would feel. Even the best shields wouldn't help much with that much hurt. He _did_ hurt…but he wasn't sure who he could talk to. Ron was nearly out of his mind, Charlie went around looking like he wanted to hit something, the twins were hexing each other for a change, and Bill seemed really busy with lots of things. He knew Ginny was just trying to cover up, and it wouldn't be fair to lean on her when she probably wanted someone to lean on, too. So he washed dishes, cleaned the extra tables someone brought in, and made sure everyone had something to eat. All those lessons learned at Aunt Petunia's hard hands were finally paying off.

Then he thought about laundry, and he asked Ginny about that, too. Surprisingly, she had no clue about that, and Harry didn't see anything that looked like a Muggle washing machine anywhere. There was probably some kind of magic for that, too, but he didn't know it. The hampers around the Burrow were getting pretty full. "I wish we had a house elf here," he thought out loud to himself.

Wait! If he was Sirius Black's heir…once he thought about it, he called out "Kreacher!"

The grouchy house elf appeared. "What does Master want?" he asked with a sneer.

Harry took a deep breath. If he could talk to Professor Snape, he could talk to this elf. "Your master would like you to take care of the dirty clothes in this house, and return them in good condition. My godfather, Sirius Black, always had clean clothes, and didn't smell bad unless he was drinking. You must have done a good job with him."

Kreacher turned his glowering down a notch or two. "Suppose there's a ton of it, and all has to be done a minute," he grumbled.

"Yes, there is a lot, but if you can do them in a day or so, that would be nice." Harry knew he had to hold his ground with this elf. "And I don't want you to tell anybody else about this, either."

Kreacher sighed, a huge, martyred sigh. "Kreacher can do it, even with blood traitors' clothing. Why can't Blood Traitor Mistress do it?"

"Her heart is broken," Harry said flatly. Molly really did try to remember to care for her children, including him, but the occasional blankness in her eyes terrified him.

"Oh." Kreacher bowed his head. Then he disappeared, along with one hamper of laundry. The elf popped in and out at various times during the day, and left clean, folded laundry on the bed of each person it belonged to—it was weird how Kreacher knew whose stuff was whose.

By evening it was all done, and nobody the wiser. "Kreacher, what would you like to eat?" Harry asked. People were _still_ bringing in food.

"Oh, Kreacher lives on scraps…" the elf whined.

"Nobody's going to miss a plate of anything around here," Harry said, and grabbed for an empty plate and some silverware. "I'm hungry, too, so sit down and eat with me."

"Why isn't Master out there with the others?" the elf asked, in a tone that was almost civil.

"I don't know hardly any of those people, and I'd just be stared at as the Boy Who Lived. Nobody believes me, but it's awful sometimes." He quickly set two places at the table that had been brought down from the attic. "So, what would you like?"

Kreacher stared at him. "Not right for Master to serve!"

"Then you go ahead, but I am ordering you to have some, too, but only what you like." He had seen Snape giving Winky orders, and being that careful with it, too.

Kreacher's bluster expired like a popped balloon. He sagged, and looked older than Harry had ever seen any house elf. The little fellow slowly heaped Harry's plate high, and put only a little on his own. He even sat down at the table when Harry told him too.

The elf was silent, and ate slowly, with suspicious moisture at the corners of his large, rheumy eyes. Harry was quiet, too, though he had trouble cleaning his plate—he was hungry, but not _that_ much, but didn't want Kreacher thinking he was turning down what the elf had given to him.

Soon both of them were done, and the elf leaped to the sink and cleaned the plates and silverware, plus a few cups that were already in the sink. "Call when this is full again, Master, even Mudblood Masters shouldn't work like this."

Harry didn't like that term, but was confused. "Both of my parents were magical, though. Doesn't that make me more, um, something than Hermione?"

"Of course, Master, you not pureblood but close. Mudblood girl gets into books at Grimmauld Place, should know better! Bad for her!"

"I'll let her know. Thank you, Kreacher." He would have to ask someone if some of the books at his godfather's place were unsafe for her. The elf might be telling the truth.

Kreacher popped away.

Harry was still angry with the elf for betraying Sirius, but he had never asked Kreacher why he'd done it. Then again, he had been around when his godfather had tossed things at the elf's head, or kicked the small creature when he went by and was near enough for it. _I should have said something, then,_ he thought. _But I didn't want to think that he was doing anything wrong. Besides, Sirius would have laughed it off and said I was ignorant, or something._

He still missed the man, but had a clearer idea that Sirius wasn't perfect by any means. _He must have hated being a prisoner of that awful house—I know I would. Why didn't he go outside more in the garden when the weather wasn't too bad? Or maybe he did when we didn't have Order meetings._ True, the garden in back hadn't been all that big, not like the fields around Ottery St. Catchpole.

Harry was so desperate for something to do he even looked at a couple of his books. But that was only when it was too rainy to go out and fly, though the Weasley brooms were in pretty bad shape. He imagined going _Accio, broom_ , for his own, and thought about the consternation everywhere as it traveled all the way from Hogwarts to here. Probably a bad idea, even if he could make it work.

But it wasn't all housework. By Monday, Ron was ready to start eating again, and had stopped sitting up all night by the hearth all white-faced and trembling. They went out on the family brooms that day, and Harry had been able to show even Bill a few things, though Charlie had some moves that Harry asked his new brother to teach him. They talked while going through the loops and side-slips that could make all the different in cutting down the distance to the Snitch. "No matter how good you are, and how many times you catch the Snitch, you can't win a game all by yourself," Charlie said with a sad smile. "Of course, the game is often over if you _do_ , but not always. Krum caught a lot for Bulgaria, but Ireland still won during the World Cup your fourth year."

"Supposedly I _am_ supposed to win a really _big_ game by myself," Harry said. The Headmaster had been clear on the Prophecy, but some of it didn't make any sense. Of course he and Voldemort couldn't both survive, both of them were trying really hard to kill each other. But he didn't like the link between them, and would rather break it now, than try to use it to sneak into Voldie's mind. _Even though I saved my dad once by it,_ he thought with sorrow.

"Screw that," Charlie said. "If you think you can keep us Weasleys from standing beside you in this scrum, you're out of your mind. Even Percy, maybe…" He looked sad.

"He tried to warn Ron to stay out of the Toad's way," Harry said, thinking about that letter. "I probably should have listened, too. All I got out of _that_ was this scar…" He showed Charlie the _I must not tell lies_ on his arm, though it was fading these days. "Hermione tried to tell me to shut up and sit down, and she was the first one to be pissed off by Umbridge not teaching us anything but lies herself. Weird how all she got for detention was cleaning those cat plates, and the boys had to do those horrible lines…"

Charlie shook his head. "Don't ask me, I never met the woman. I don't see how Percy can stand working for her. But…and don't pass this on…maybe he's there so he can listen to her, you know? The twins told me about this prank that Perfect Percy is dreaming up to play there at the Ministry, and he wouldn't do that if he…if he was really bad, or anything."

Harry didn't worry about Percy nearly as much as everyone else seemed to, but agreed that things might be different than they seem. Snape sure was, and so was the Headmaster, for that matter. But it made sense—who would talk to Percy if they thought he was an Order member? Or would You-Know-Who tell Snape anything unless he thought the professor was on his side? Though thinking about all this made Harry wonder who in the Order might be pretending, too. When the Headmaster stopped by for a short visit, he mentioned that, and was told that Moody was in charge of those precautions. But then, Harry thought of the time that Moody hadn't been himself, either, so that didn't help as much as the old wizard probably thought it had.

"Harry, dear," called Molly from the parlor. "Nanny Ogg wants to talk to you…"

He rolled his eyes. The old woman, who wasn't a lot taller than Kreacher when he thought about it, had been _looking_ at him like he was a plant in the garden she wasn't sure was a weed or not. He'd better go see what she wanted. She was nicer than Aunt Marge, though that wasn't hard.

Percy smiled and nodded till he thought his head would come off. Then he went home, again, and made notes of all the conversations he'd had that day. Moody said it was good training, and that you never knew what might be important, till he thought his head would come off smiling and nodding at _him_.

People didn't know whether or not to be sympathetic with him or not at the Ministry, and he didn't try to fix that, either. Even Umbridge eyed him doubtfully, like he was a dungbomb ready to go off. He thought he was numb, through and through, till he went home and found a card on his tiny kitchen table. It was in an envelope bordered in black, like the kind the rich purebloods used. He sighed, and waved his wand at it. No, it was all right that way, though he wouldn't have been surprised if the twins had boobytrapped it.

He opened…and out came a gray and blue card, offering sympathy in a handwriting he didn't think he recognized. _I lost my father when I was much younger, but I still missed him a great deal. Even if you and your father didn't agree on things, I know losing him will be hard on you._

 _Yrs, Peter Pettigrew_

At that he burst into tears and had to use the dish-towel to mop them up. Once the storm was over, he washed his face with cold water, and then forced himself to eat and drink, though everything tasted like ashes. _I have to do something,_ he thought. _I have to do something so Mum doesn't hate me, too, though she had to sound like it when Dad died in front of the healer._ He went through his gear in this horrible flat and didn't find anything that would suit. Then he found an old handkerchief that used to be Dad's, and that Percy had always kept. Oh, wait, there was that Muggle toy Dad had gotten him, too, and which Percy had somehow kept the twins from destroying with so much else. He pulled out the elderly stuffed bear, which had been named Percy, too, and which still had both eyes. Moody would call him childish to keep anything like that, and so he would give them away, because Mum would need them more right now than he did. He felt like he was tearing up his heart by packing them up, though. _I can't do this!_ he thought. And then he hit on a way so Mum wouldn't think he was just throwing old rubbish out the door. He wrote a note in his own handwriting, but with a different signature, and owled it off to the Burrow. Mum would know what he meant.

Molly received another gift, though it was the second one with Moody's name on it. He had already sent a Foe-Glass, which she hoped she wouldn't need, but didn't mind having anyway. She checked it, of course, she still had some of her mind left, and it seemed all right. When she opened it, though, her heart fell out. She had dozens of those handkerchiefs, but she would recognize that sad little bear on her deathbed. She bit her lip, and forced herself to read the note that came with it.

 _Dear Mrs. Weasley,_ it began, though she knew Percy's hand from twenty feet. For one thing, you could actually _read_ it. _A friend of mine wanted me to pass on this memento, and to ask you to keep it safe, as he plans to pick it up again someday. May you have many happy memories of times past, and better hopes for the future._

 _Alastor Moody, Auror (ret.)_

 _P.S. Please destroy the note. Constant vigilance!_

She almost smiled, but then made herself frown, and tossed the note into the hearth. She made sure it was well gone before moving away from the flames. Percy had just about caught how Moody wrote, but she had received the right message. This would go up into the attic next to the ghoul's nest, and since it wasn't edible, would be safer there than anyplace else her family was likely to go. No matter what face her third son wore these days, she knew where his heart was. There was the funeral to get through, but after that, she'd stay busy preparing for Christmas.

Snape felt quite strange for the next few days, and knew it was just as well that Albus was gone from Hogwarts for them. They were likely to tangle each other badly if they met before the different timestreams converged. He wasn't uncomfortable around Minerva, since their streams had already been put together before he had come back from Hogsmeade. But he sensed that she, and nearly everyone else at Hogwarts, was uncomfortable around _him_ —more than usual, anyway. Winky was the only one who seemed unfazed by it all. When he had attempted to explain to her what had happened, she just said, "I takes care of you. Easier here than away, but doesn't matter. Everything all right not long from now."

He wished he shared her sunny outlook. Arthur Weasley was still dead, and a heavy weight on his soul. He wasn't sleeping or eating well again, and starting to build up a head of anger towards his idiot students, even though they were remarkably subdued under the circumstances. Even Draco wasn't pulling anything really stupid for once, which he appreciated, and Miss Granger staying silent for a change, which he appreciated even more. Mr. Longbottom, on the other hand, was showing a disturbing amount of self-confidence with his drawings, though from a cursory inspection, his 'map' of the Wolfsbane Potion was beginning to shape into something less than Malfoy Manor as seen by Escher and into something more like what a brewer could use.

And then, on Tuesday evening, he suddenly felt much better. He saw Albus back up at the head table in the Great Hall, too, but wasn't called into to talk. That was just as well, since he had a stack of essays that threatened to totter and spill over. He was able to speak to Poppy, though, and get another list of potions that the infirmary needed. "I feel better, too," she said as she handed the paper over as they sat in her office. "I felt dizzy off and on for the last several days, and I didn't even have to take your potions to do so. Perhaps I've just been handling it too much, but the Headmaster really shouldn't. He was caught in quite a nasty loop when he was younger, and if what you say is true, he probably felt things worse this last week. I am glad I talked him into leaving Hogwarts for the past few days. I expect everything will settle down now."

"I hope so." Snape downed his own lot of potions for the evening, except for the sedative, which he would take just at bedtime. "I just wish that every student used a Quick-Quotes Quill or at least decided to print—I spend more time trying to figure out what they said than cutting them down for their stupidity…"

"Yes, Minerva sings the same song, though she's a bit nicer about it," Poppy said. "But I want you to spend a half hour at a time correcting, taking a break, and then another half hour at a time. You may have some vision changes with this new batch, and eyestrain is the last thing you need at this point in time."

"Ah, the delight of new side effects, just when I have learned to deal with the old ones! At least I won't be bored…"

"You will be if you can't read for some reason," Poppy said tartly. "I have already told Winky, so don't even try to ignore me. She's getting much better at telling time than she used to be, so please don't confuse her by trying to play with the clocks."

"You are ahead of me yet again," Snape said. Although the prospect of only spending a half hour at a time on essays with a break didn't sound like such a bad one. He wondered if he could borrow one of Professor Binn's elves—all of his could read out loud if necessary, and put down corrections and comments for him.

Poppy lowered her voice. "I know that it will be hard for you on Thursday, when the funeral is being held. I tried to ask Albus to have classes canceled, if only so you could go to it along with Minerva, but unfortunately, he's right that most of the students here aren't really involved and it would establish a bad precedent."

"Too many funerals, not enough classroom time," he said mordantly.

"Yes. However, I would like to point out that you do seem to have about an hour break in the late morning when you are supposed to breathe fresh air anyway. No one would question if you felt you needed to breathe the air somewhere else. The actual ceremony will be in the afternoon, as more Order members can come at that time, and of course the Ministers wish to send off one of their own, but you will be able to pay your respects before it. I have a good idea why you want to avoid going there, but it won't help. And if you feel you must cancel the class after that break for any reason, I will be delighted to write a note about any side-effects from the potions that you're taking. This office is fairly sound proof. Albus, of course, will be gone for the ceremony, but this will be hard on him. I know the Weasleys and think the world of Molly, but we have already had our little cry this last weekend." Her eyes looked rather moist as she talked about it.

"You should go in the afternoon," he said. "I can have my afternoon lie-down break up here and terrify the fakers without having to sit up."

"Oh…that…that would be lovely," Poppy said, as she took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Thank you."

Snape glanced away. Expressions of gratitude were still rare in his life, and he planned to savor each one. He had much more to savor than he used to, he realized that, but some of this was still new to him.

He left the Infirmary, still holding the list, and went back down to the dungeons and almost did not notice the way the students still made sure he had a wide berth. Almost—he hadn't become _that_ soft yet.

Then he looked at the list, compared it to his class schedule, and decided his fourth-year students were up to the challenge for most of it—fortunately, the ingredients for most of the potions were fairly inexpensive, so having the little darlings ruin them wouldn't cost Hogwarts too dear. He had no idea how Bellwood had managed his budget at all, considering how much he allowed his students to pilfer for their private projects. Snape was proud that he had cut down on that quite a bit over the years, save for the kind that his female students often needed on a regular basis. It still rankled that he'd thought Mr. Potter had been after the boomslang skin again for Polyjuice, but given that the boy had been guilty two years prior, he didn't feel too upset about it.

Snape remembered Barty Crouch Jr.—the boy had been nearly as mad as the grown man had turned out to be, and everyone tried quite hard to make sure the paths of that young man and Bellatrix Black had not crossed more than necessary. Between her opinions of the Ministry, and Barty's utter confidence that he was more brilliant than any other Slytherin student in the history of the school, it was bound to not work out well. Fortunately, she was gone long before Barty had tried for twelve OWLs, or she would certainly have incinerated him. How she had managed to avoid it during Snape's own early Death Eater days was still a mystery.

He glanced at the essays, and decided to what he called a speed-run through them. He would sort them into readable and non-readable first, and whip through the readable ones and leave the illegible ones for later, possibly _much_ later. Every once in a while, he had a student who could not read their own writing, such as Ronald Weasley, and he would direct them to print their essays from then on. Why wasn't there a system of decent primary schools for magical folk he did not know.

Winky had been informed of the new regime, traitorous little thing, and tapped him gently on the shoulder after the first half hour was up. Fortunately for her, she also bore a small dish of ice cream that made the sour taste in his mouth from his evening potions go away, so he only snarled at her a little bit.

He stood up from his special grading chair, though he would much rather have leaned back and gone to sleep in it, but those essays were not going away any time soon (in fact, he thought they were breeding while his back was turned).

After pacing around a bit, he sat back down, somewhat refreshed. He brightened the charm in the room light a bit more, as his eyes were trying to cross, though Miss Harshaw's essay on mushrooms made his eyebrows raise even higher. She either had a brilliant career in store as a poisoner or a very short one as a potioneer, and he wasn't sure which one at this point.

At last he couldn't distract himself from his grief or any guilt any longer. He stacked the finished essays in his out basket, and eyed the still-high tower of the remaining ones in dismay. But he would probably have better luck calling in the ones with the worst writing and have them read the offending pieces of paper instead of half-killing himself trying to figure out what in blazes they actually wrote.

Yes, he may as well grieve here, in private, and let any acid tears fall where they may out of sight of anyone else. He would have enough of an ordeal a couple of days from now.

Bill Weasley went through his father's ledger and sighed in dismay. He knew that his parents weren't nearly as poor as they used to be, since they no longer had all seven of them at home to feed and clothe. Ginny had to have new things, being a girl, and Ron certainly deserved better than hand-me-downs after having to wear so many nearly worn to rags as he was growing up. After the twins were done with something, it usually wasn't any good any more as it was. But he couldn't make head nor tail of the deposits and receipts from Gringotts, and he jolly well _worked_ there. There were payments going out for the house, plus a small extra—would that be insewerants? The bank had started issuing policies a couple of centuries ago, but most wizards didn't go in for them. Bill rather hoped his father had but didn't know the goblin in charge that well. Snaptooth was considered slightly unreliable and a little too prone to take the pureblood point of view by older, more settled goblins—the fellow was less than a hundred years old, after all, and such youngsters were occasionally viewed with suspicion. Bill had a pretty good idea of what they thought of _him_ , but as long as he was amenable to clearing out dodgy mausoleums and dealing with foreign sprites, they were more than happy to let him.

But what _had_ happened to about half of the football pool money? Surely the family hadn't spent it all on that trip to Egypt—mainly to see him, he realized later on. The Portkey wasn't that expensive, though travel between continents did cost more than within them, and he didn't think that his family would spend that much on food and drink, even with so many of them.

Then he froze as he looked at an entry a few years further back. Dad had gone into debt big time, even re-mortgaging the house…for his apprenticeship there at the bank. Bill knew, of course, that the goblins didn't like hiring humans save on a contract basis, but there it was, a true, full apprenticeship that would eventually put him on a par with the goblins—well, if he lived long enough. Though that was doubtful these days. The football pool money had merely paid part of his apprenticeship fee off, while still leaving the mortgage, though it looked like that had also been nearly paid off in the last year or two. He really itched to look through the records at Gringotts itself, to find out if their figures matched his father's. _Bless you, Mum, for insisting on playing the pools even though Dad didn't really like it at the time. I'm glad I helped you set up your betting book, so you could show him that you weren't really spending that much. We would be in a world of hurt indeed if you hadn't won. There was gossip that someone at the Ministry somehow knew about Mum's bets and somehow made the Quidditch season come out the way they needed to for that high a prize, but other people have won it, too—it wasn't a one-off, which would stink on ice. If someone wanted Dad to have a lot of money, they went to a lot of trouble. Plus, it was in public. I didn't hear any complaints, and neither did any of the goblins at the time._

But yes, it had hurt Mum and Dad big time for them to enter him on a true apprenticeship. _I wish they'd done it for Percy instead—his job at the Ministry is driving him away from us. I'll have to sit on Charlie, I suppose, if and when he shows up with the rest of the crowd on Thursday. Plus, the goblin I work with has already said it's a pity they only have one of us, and that Perce is much more suited to their work than I am. They're right, of course. He'd be happy as a pig in wallow to sit with those ledgers all day and make sure everything balances right. But then, the twins would make trouble for him there, too, and the goblins would be less forgiving than the Ministry has been so far._

Bill sighed. He didn't know what a widow's pension from the Ministry ran to these days, or if it would cover the basic expenses that Mum had these days. Keeping up the house didn't run that much, though she'd be better off once the mortgage was gone. He resolved to have a talk with Charlie and see if the two of them could come with enough to pay the last bit off. Making sure Ron and Ginny stayed in school, and had good clothing and decent books for once, well, that cost, too, though not as much as the year when that fool Lockhart had been there. Mum had gone completely off her head then over that idiot's looks. Bill mused, _It served him right, what happened to him. Memory charms were the only thing keeping his career going, and I swear, if it had been Ron's arm he'd disappeared, the twins would have made sure he didn't have a head to put his memories, or anybody else's in._

Harry. Well, if push came to shove, he'd help out even if he had to be sneaky about it. Once he was seventeen, he'd have all rights to do with his money as he pleased, and could sell that ghastly Grimmauld Place, shrieking portrait and all, back to the Blacks for a pretty Knut or two. He had only met Sirius Black a few times and was glad he hadn't been required to be there. Of course Harry thought the earth of the man, being his godfather and all, and Sirius was usually on his best behavior around the boy, but he had never grudged Snape his sneers after hearing the gross jokes between Black and Moody about the potions master.

He remembered his own time in Potions—Bellwood had been his teacher his first year, and that had been horribly boring. In retaliation for it, he'd subjected the old man to a series of pranks that he'd heard some group called the Marauders had pulled not too long before him. _That_ had stopped when his dad had sent him a blistering letter about not becoming a bully.

And it had _really_ stopped when he'd had Snape the next year. Snape had not been that much older than the seventh years but had instilled a reign of terror and despair that had every student gasping for breath and too terrified to plot revenge. Well, at least in class. Back in the common room, one of the students had told a horrible tale of something his older brother had seen, of the current Potions Master being turned upside down and stripped for the edification of the crowd. Bill had gulped and realized what his dad would do to him if he had even thought about doing something like that anybody. One student had tried to hex Snape from behind, only to find out that the young man had eyes there, too—his description of his detention with Filch had been ghastly enough that pretty much everyone had decided not to risk it.

He'd learned a lot more for settling down and paying attention, too. He and his fellows then on had entertained other students with brags about what they would do to Snape after the Leaving Feast their last year, of course—although watching Snape at the next one with his cold eyes seeing through their souls had convinced most people not to try anything. And even then, one idiot who had thought to do something had ended up so Petrified so fast that nobody had even seen the professor's wand come out.

They had also learned to leave the smaller Slytherins alone. Even though nobody might see something happen, or a prefect who didn't care too much was around, Snape somehow always knew who was involved, and detentions with him were just about as pleasant as opening a tomb where there had been rather too much moisture among the remains. Then again, his detentions had been very good training for such situations.

He looked at his dad's ledgers again. He would have to take them down to Gringotts and compare them, but he thought that as long as the mortgage could be taken care of, Mum ought to do just fine. She didn't spend that much on herself, though appreciative of presents from all and sundry, and Order work would keep her busy. After the war…well, that could take care of by herself. Mum was a young woman by wizarding standards, though Bill hated the thought that she might marry someone else. That would have to be a decision that she would have to make, though Bill knew nobody wouldn't like anyone thinking she could replace _Dad_.

He lay his head down and allowed a few secret tears to leak out. Mum needed to lean on him, no matter what she said about her shoulder still open to him, even at his age. Well, he would probably marry, if he lived, and Mum would always have a home with him if need be. He just hoped she wouldn't be too bored, since she was used to dealing with a crowd all the time

Time. That was something that many of them didn't have, not in this war.

Charlie twitched. The weather had been too foul to fly today, and tomorrow promised a real downpour. Tomorrow was when Dad would go into the ground. Lots of wizards burned these days, what with Inferi and all, but the winter was damp, there wouldn't be much of Dad left anyway if the Petrify spell wore out. He didn't know what to think of that. It would be cleaner and better to send someone into the fire at their end, but the Weasleys belonged to the earth, too. Well, some of them. He knew he didn't.

He was surprised at how much Mum understood his bad temper, though he'd been on the other end of the Wooden Spoon of Doom enough to feel her own. He didn't know that sons ever got maenad blood, either, but he wasn't surprised.

Oh, damn, he was going to have to be nice to Percy tomorrow, and he hated the idea. Ever since the little brat had been born, he'd been an annoying tag-a-long. Charlie had been thrilled to get his Hogwarts letter, and be rid of having to watch Little Meek and Mild. "You're teasing him too rough, there," "Don't you see you're scaring him?' Percy might as well have been a girl, Charlie thought. He had silently cheered when he'd seen how the twins drove his little brother out of his mind and was glad to be out of the loop at school. The only reason he made it through any of his classes was because of Bill. _I was too busy playing Quidditch and being a glory hound, till the Hag grounded me. It was Bill that kept me from quitting the school right then. Only Professor Remaining Limbs was interesting, and it was his recommendation that got me into the Dragon Reserve. The rest of the teachers said they were just being fair, yeah, right! Ok. Snape never pretended to be fair, I'll give him that. Bill warned me not to try anything on him, like I listened, and I found out why…didn't take me that long to figure out how to keep my head down, though, and once I did it wasn't that bad._

He decided he'd rather end up wet than hang around all these visitors—it was really hard to stay polite to some of them, especially Aunt Muriel, who kept saying that she knew this day would come till he was ready to strangle her. Mum wasn't far behind, given how red she was getting. "Mum," he said. "Could you come out with me around back? One of the pigs is turning a funny color and Ginny said she didn't know what to make of it."

She took the excuse gratefully and the two of them walked out to the barn. "I thought you were about to blow her up the way Harry did his Aunt Marge, and if I had stayed any longer, I would have helped," he said.

Mum sighed and dried herself off as soon as they went inside the outbuilding. "I haven't been tending to the pigs like I should have been," she said. "Ginny's only fed them and such."

"Well, they're really fine, and feeding is what they like to do anyway," Charlie said, who had had his share of the work in his time.

"Still, I've been shirking. Harry spends half his time in the kitchen, and I still don't know who did the laundry." She looked ashamed of herself.

"I don't know either, but they did it right, whoever it was," Charlie said, trying to reassure her. "It's all we can do to make you go to bed and eat just now, and with all those people coming…"

"I know. And tomorrow will be worse. And…the time after that, when everyone is gone, will be hardest of all."

Charlie didn't know what to say to that. He'd had a few girlfriends in his time, but none of them really shared his interests in dragons. That was true of most of the lads at the Reserve, too; every once in a while, a girl or woman would join, and then have to beat off attention from everyone else. Well, except for the men who were pretty much married to their favorite dragon, and even they slipped into town for things no dragon could provide.

"Just owl me at the Reserve, Mum. You know they give me more time off for family things than I take. Whenever you need someone to help you yell at the world, I'll be glad to help. Come out with me sometime—we have a visitors' hostel, and a little dragon that's just hatched is really cute. They hardly flame till they're a week or so old."

For a moment, a smile flickered on his mother's face. Then she turned sober again. "Don't worry about me, _other things_ will keep me busy, I expect."

"Mum, don't put yourself in danger!" Charlie said.

"I live in Britain and I'm a blood traitor Weasley," she said. "All of us who stay here are targets, Charlie, one reason I'm glad that you're out of it, and Bill, most of the time as well."

" _Percy_ isn't in any danger," he said bitterly.

"Oh, dear, he's most likely to be hexed at by both sides, him and Snape," Molly said. "And don't gossip, or he'll be lying next to his father before any of the rest of us."

He nearly slapped himself on the forehead. He'd just told Harry, of all people, of why he wasn't angry with his younger brother for once, and he'd just forgotten it. "Sorry, Mum. Old habits. Both Bill and I thought you'd forgotten who we were when he was born…"

"And he thought I'd forgotten him when the twins arrived, and I know Ronald gave up on me when we all fluttered over Ginny," Molly said. "In a family this size, it's like the Wizengamot, I swear—all factions and feuds. Whatever Percy does might be what keeps us alive if everything goes wrong, too, if I read my old roommate right. _Her_ arm doesn't have anything on it, but that doesn't mean much these days. You-Know-Who is probably bright enough to have a few friends who aren't wearing signs."

"Old roommate—you don't mean the Toad, do you?" Charlie was aghast. He'd never heard this rumor.

"Yes, Dolly and I were 'Puffs that long ago," she said. "And no matter what you think of her, her road hasn't been easy either. I can't tell you how many times the boys swerved away from her when they caught sight of…of, um someone else," she said, pink flooding her face. "That's a hard thing for anyone to bear, and I didn't help it much by enjoying it. She accused me to my face once of lying down for anyone with the right broom…" She bit her lip.

Charlie really didn't want to hear that part. "That's all right, Mum, you don't have to say any more."

"But I do have to say one thing—once I met your father, there was no one else for me, and you can cast Paternity charms all day long, you'll only get one answer."

Now _his_ face felt hot. He was glad she'd reassured him, though. There was gossip that the hearing over Harry had had that kind of talk.

"Now go on out to your father's shed with Bill—there is plenty of stuff out there, and if you or your brother can use any of it, it's yours. I never went out there much, every man has to have a place that's just his, just like I have the sewing room, even though I always kept the door open when you were little."

Charlie knew that was where Mum kept her yarn and knitting supplies and not room for much else, though sometimes she had sat there in a rocking chair with a sick or fractious child and everyone else had wanted to listen to the Wireless or just talk. He appreciated the escape, though, and took it. Judging by Bill's face, he was happy to leave the ledgers and go on out with him, weather or no weather.

He and Bill went into the shed, though they were careful to test for hexes and wards, and _very_ careful not to touch anything till they were sure it wouldn't spark at them. Even Bill couldn't figure out what most of it was for, or what it was supposed to do. Funny little booklets with diagrams and instructions were littered about too. Charlie tried to read one, but it didn't make any sense even without the Muggle terms—the word order was all wrong, for one thing.

"Oh, no wonder!" Bill said when Charlie asked. "The squiggles underneath are Cantonese, and some of their translators work without a spell. You get that even with a good spell, sometimes, if you aren't sure in your mind what it might be all about. I had to learn some Arabic the hard way for mine to work. Let me tell you a story about someone who _thought_ he could translate hieroglyphics, even though a dog could tell it was about water from a river coming out of a tube..."

Charlie laughed, something he hadn't done since he'd been called to pick up a Portkey to go home. And then he stopped and looked around the shed all crowded with wires and Muggle gear. He looked under what seemed to be a little trap door, and uncovered some…oh, _those_ kind of magazines, only he'd never seen Muggle ones before. "Aren't these boring when the pictures don't move?" he said and handed them over to Bill.

Bill flipped through one, a fairly small one, and said, "These look like letters that people write in about their adventures," he said. "Most of them aren't true, of course, but you know how that goes…"

Charlie had had a few adventures of his own but couldn't imagine writing to anyone about them. He couldn't even begin to imagine the sort that his older brother must have had. He quickly stuffed the magazines back where they'd come from after getting the one back from Bill. With embarrassed glances, they silently promised never to mention this again, and Charlie scuffed some dust over the hiding place. Then again, there _were_ seven of them.

They went back to the house, both in better spirits than they had been.

The twins sat together in their room and were seriously bored. Mum had been adamant about them not pranking anyone at this time. But they had to do something! They had already made excuses a couple of times and fled back to their shop, and even done a bit more work on the new place in Diagon Alley, but it wasn't any good there, either. People wanted to be amused when they went into a WWW shop. And for once, the twins didn't have it in them.

"Dad would have wanted us to go on," Fred said. "Some of his ideas turned out to be really popular. What do we do, George?"

"Same as we did before. Maybe hold off on expanding, though if Ron or Ginny quit school to work, we should hire them first."

"But we'll have to pay them fair, or Mum will go after us." Fred sighed.

"True. Maybe we should put some by to keep them in school, so we can cheat strangers instead…"

"Ask Mum if she needs help?"

"You know she'll say no. Ask Bill, he was in Dad's books today." George sighed, too.

"It's not right.

"No."

"Let's find out who to do something to," said Fred.

"Duh. Already thinking how to combine Garroting Gas with a Canary Cream."

"Too bad old Snape isn't around, he'd know."

"They're not closing the school, though. Thin Lips and the Great One will be here, probably, but not too many others." George heaved another sigh. "I'm so booooored!"

They heard a knock on the door. Mum's grandmother, Nanny Ogg stood there, her one remaining tooth polished to a gleaming finish. "Lads, I heard the fatal word. Your Mum told me lots about you. Now, let's go on up to the attic and let me watch how you persuade the ghoul to behave itself during the service tomorrow. I've never met a ghoul, at least not one that lived in a house, and I'd like to see it."

They knew an order when they heard it, and followed her up the stairs, glumly. Their spirits perked up once they were there, though—they'd offered it bribes before to keep some of their papers safe and didn't think they would be in any trouble.

They thought.

Ron still felt numb. He remembered Dad rescuing him from the twins, whenever Percy wasn't around to do it, and wished he'd listened to him more. He looked at his new robes and shoes and didn't know what to think. He had always hoped to be seen as worthwhile in himself and not passed over for Ginny, or even Harry—but not like this. He had been so angry with Mum his fourth year, having to wear that awful robe…but now, but now, he was still angry, but didn't have any target for it. Dad was supposed to always sit down at the table with the newspaper, pass off bits to Mum when she finally sat down, everyone would loudly discuss the bits that Dad read out loud, Mum would check the scores against her betting book, Bill would do sums in his head just to show he could…

He collapsed on the bed and wept again. He could do it here, without anyone pointing figures or trying to _comfort_ him. Mum wouldn't mind, for once she remembered he was here and not just Harry…the only person he really wanted by him was Hermione. _She_ would understand. But she wouldn't be here till tomorrow. He knew, somehow, that Mum had taken against his friend as much as she had taken Harry into her arms. But they were a trio, and it didn't feel right to not have her here. Things had been a bit better last summer, when Hermione had shared a room with Ginny and had needed being taken care of—Mum took care of people, and maybe seeing Hermione obviously weak and sick had made her unbend a bit—but he knew that the two of them were so different it was hard to believe they were on the same planet. He would never have the same kind of house with her—for one thing, they would have to have enough room for most of the Hogwarts library in it—but there was so much about her that he loved. Harry got pretty tired of being told by her what they needed to do, he probably got enough of that from the Headmaster, but Ron knew that neither he nor his friend would ever have passed most of their classes without her. Or survived some of their adventures, if truth be known.

It wasn't right for her to be left out. She had been, too, with the Quidditch homework sessions and her not being all the way well yet. _And now with Harry being a Weasley, sort of, she's left out again. Maybe the next time me and Harry are in trouble, she won't be there, and we'll be out of luck._

Oh, he loved her so. She was so different from the other Gryffindor girls, but not when it counted. Now, Ginny would be up for their yearly 'Voldemort is trying to kill us' attempt, but would she know enough to get them out of it alive? Something in his stomach told him that Hermione had been their margin of safety far too often for it to be a coincidence. Yeah, being nagged to do his own homework for a change was pretty annoying, but she was right, he'd spent all summer making up for it this last year.

And yeah, he didn't like it that Harry and Hermione had missed that one Quidditch game of his to cavort with Grawp, but once he heard what happened to Umbridge, didn't mind a bit. Part of his heart still wished that they'd seen his triumph, though…he had so few of them. When he'd told Luna about that, she said that she had seen the game, and admired how he'd tracked the Quaffle all the way from the other goal to his using a technique called drunkard's walk—he'd never heard it called that before, but that was what he'd done even if he hadn't known the name for it. He'd asked Hermione about it later, but she said there was a book about it—why was he not surprised?—but the one she gave him was too hard for him to read. He wished he liked reading better, but the letters wiggled around too much. _I wonder if there's a spell to read things out loud, the way there is on a Dicta-Quill to write what you say down?_ Maybe he could ask Luna to ask her House Head about that, if she didn't know the spell herself. It sure would make things a lot easier for him. He was just a bit afraid to ask Hermione!

But he was Captain of the team now. He was still happy at how people looked to him for the answers on the field and off it. Even Harry listened to him, some of the time, anyway.

His heart and stomach still hurt for losing Dad. How was he going to go back to school and pretend nothing had happened? On top of that, once Quidditch was done for the season, he was supposed to be some kind of student aide—to _Snape_. Well, he wouldn't have time to wallow over Dad once that started. Still, he kind of liked Winky, and he saw how the little elf tamed the fractious Potions Master. _I hate Kreacher, but like Dobby, and Winky is just sweet. I'll ask her how to go along, and maybe it will work out after all._

He wiped his face. Dad was still gone. At Christmas, he'd ask Bill how Mum was getting along. He wasn't too young to work, especially since he'd passed several of his OWLs, including Potions, to his surprise. Snape had pretty much stopped yelling at him as much—he'd even stopped yelling, mostly, at _Longbottom_. His eyelid still twitched every once in a while, and Ron had finally learned to shut it whenever that happened. Even _Malfoy_ paid attention to that one!

It would be really cool if they brewed the Wolfsbane Potion, too.

He sighed and left the room. Harry should have _some_ help in the kitchen, and not just Ginny.

Ginny fed the chickens and the pigs with tears streaming down her face. _Dad, oh Dad, you promised to walk with me when I went from here to my husband's arms. I always thought that would be Harry, but that won't happen either. What am I to do?_

She knew she didn't want to be Mum, though they loved each other. When no one else was around, they fought like to cats in the same sack. _We'll be fine once I have my own kitchen,_ she thought. _Dad pointed out that the two of us were too alike, and that's why we yell at each other over nothing. He said that was why he and the boys fought whenever they hit a certain age, well, except for Perfect Percy. Huh. Maybe this is just the way that Percy fights, by moving off…_

But Dad, oh, _Dad_! Tears sprang afresh. She had always been Dad's darling since she'd been born. She had even gone out to the shed sometimes with him, and read him instructions on things while he worked with Muggle stuff, even though some of them hadn't made any sense. As long as she didn't go out there by herself and muck around, she had more time with him there than any of the others.

What was she supposed to do now? All she was good at was playing Quidditch. She was pretty proud of how Ron had measured up this year, and still amazed that Harry had turned it down in the first place. For all his talk about hating publicity, Harry didn't like it that much when he was overlooked, not as much as he said he did, though he had hidden out in the kitchen a lot while here. But then, with Skeeter around, anyone who had brains did that. She was really surprised that he knew how to cook, even though he did things the Muggle way most of the time. She'd had to show him how the oven and the food-safe worked, but she was so pleased she wasn't stuck with everything the way she'd been last summer, that she hadn't commented on it. Hermione had muttered darkly that Harry's relatives were horrible, but Ginny wasn't going look a gift Thestral in the mouth at this point.

She had been ready to show Harry how the laundry worked, too, though she should really be doing it herself, but it had been done behind her back as well. However, it was done, and she wasn't going to complain about it. _Oh, damn, and he's only my brother! Once they find out he can do housework and doesn't mind it, the girls at school will be lining up three-deep for him even if he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived._

 _But we have to live long enough to care. I hope the Ministry brings their wands for Dad's funeral, because what a lovely target we'll all make for You-Know-Who and his friends. I wonder how safe Mum will be when we're all back at school and she's here all by herself?_

Ginny eyed the pigs. Some of them were pretty large and mean, but they'd be barbecue if the Death Eaters had their way. And the same went for the rest of them. She shivered. There were worse things that they'd learned about in DADA this year…Inferi. Better to go up in flames than to be used against your friends and family. Mum was right about Dad, though, a wet winter would leave nothing by bones by spring anyway, and the weather would keep a flame from holding no matter how many set Incendio on him. If she had her way, she'd find a dry day between now and Christmas and finish the job. It wasn't right that Dad should go without his wand, either, though nobody knew where it was.

 _What's the point of having an Order if none of them can fetch it back?_ She wondered resentfully. Oh, of course she'd join it as soon as she was old enough, and then she'd show a few of them what she was made of. She was glad, though, that Bill and Charlie were out of things. If things really went bad, at least there would be a couple of Weasleys left to carry things on, although if she ever had the chance to tell Percy what she really thought, there might be one less sooner than anyone thought.

Molly dragged herself out of bed that dreadful morning. She thought she would go mad trying to show a brave face to the neighbors these last few days. Why couldn't they have had it Monday, and have it over with now? But then, there would be dreadful empty days once everyone went home or back to school. One more day, then, to pretend she wasn't falling apart. At least Nanny said she'd stay for another week once the funeral was over.

She dressed. She washed her face. She ate whatever it was on the plate before her. She hugged her children, at least those of it who would let her. Had anyone figured out yet that she needed the hugs more than they did? Her bed was so horribly cold these days—oh, there had been times Arthur had been away for some reason, and last year he'd been at St. Mungo's for so long while that snakebite had healed. But she always knew he was coming home eventually, even though he was out of it temporarily.

She was horrible in so many ways—Arthur dead and her body on fire for him. But that was one longing she didn't dare tell even Nanny Ogg about, though given how many times that her grandmother had been a widow, no doubt she would have sympathized. Nobody else would have understood, though. Her children would have looked at her as if she had been the Whore of Hufflepuff that the bad old stories at school had named her. And it was all the worse for knowing that she would never feel her husband's hands on her again, or his manhood in her body.

There. One more day of playing Noble Martyred Widow for both the Order and the Ministry, for her family, and without a doubt, someone for the other side as well. She had no illusions about who might have been in her parlor with the Dark Mark on her arm and nobody the wiser. She was careful not to speak of Percy, because she knew his heart was on the right side, but if anybody thought so, it might be his life because of her loose lips.

She was certain that Albus and Minerva would come, but not the rest of the school—if they stopped lessons for every Order death, nothing would get done for the students who hadn't lost anyone, and that wasn't fair to them.

Then the one visitor she never expected walked into her parlor. Everyone fell silent. Snape's black robes echoed her own feelings, her own funereal black garb. Molly bit her lip as a surge of lust barreled up from her groin. No, she couldn't feel like this on the day her husband went into the ground!

And his voice just made it worse, even though he was merely speaking common platitudes about sympathy for her loss, wishing her well in the future, and offering his help if there was something he could do to aid her in this time of need.

Nanny Ogg spoke up, Bridget bless her. "You're said to be able to put up wards to stop a hippogriff," she said in her cracked tones. "I'll show you the gravesite and perhaps you can suggest any additions to the ones that will be there."

Professor Snape nodded. His gloomy demeanor wasn't out of place here and now. The pair of them looked odd, almost as strange as when he and Flitwick walked together. Nanny never seemed that short when she was talking to you, but she had shrunk over the years, and looked like an animated walking ball of black next to the tall dark figure as they went out the back.

Molly fanned herself. If people thought she was going through the Change, well, then, let them think that. Better than having them know what she _really_ felt. Having him out of the parlor helped some. Oh, Bridget, why was her husband gone? Who would cool her fires when she longed for him in her bed at night? She could manage some things on her own tick, but…it wasn't the same, would never be the same, ever.

She bit her lip again to keep from wailing. She would have time enough to do it to the air when this part was over. Fortunately, she'd have a week to do it to Nanny, but after that she really would be on her own save for work for the Order. She dimly wondered if they would still be at Grimmauld Place, or if Narcissa would make trouble over it. There was a rite that Harry could do once he was of age…

There she was, mind wandering again. Xeno was asking her a question about an interview. "Lovegood, leave off the damn paper for once," Bill said to him. "Not today."

She heard the grief in her son's voice. "Xeno, ask me next month. I can't think for now, and I'm bound to say something stupid. And I know you want to sell papers, but if I'm going to say something stupid, I'd rather say it on purpose."

Her friend blinked slowly. "Of course, Mrs. Weasley. You are wise."

That made her wonder how deep _he_ was in the Order, but decided not to push, at least not in public like this. She gazed up at Bill, still wondering how she'd produced someone so like her stepbrothers Gideon and Fabian Prewitt. Except Bill had a lot more common sense than either those two or her 'cousin' Sirius Black all put together. Yes, she'd been worried sick when he signed up for Gringotts and started treasure hunting, but look now and he was safer there than anyone in Britain these days. It was Percy, poor lad, who had been so sensible and if she guessed right, now walked a tightrope as bad as Snape's. "Thank you, Bill," she whispered. "I'm not in my right mind these days and I don't hear half of what's said to me. I'm glad you're listening more closely."

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, nodded briefly at her, and went on to talk to some of the other guests. A good thing he hadn't been in the room when Snape came in—he might have caught something in her own face that would have scandalized him.

In fact, there he was now. Molly forced herself to be stiffly polite and send him on his way. She hoped her flushed face wasn't too obvious. Nanny whispered into her ear as Snape went out the door, "He left a note. Best you read it by yourself, I would think."

Molly nodded. In only a few more hours, her Arthur would be gone from her forever. Only a few more hours before she couldn't pretend to herself that he was on some kind of trip, or out in the shed fiddling with his Muggle toys. Oh, yes, there was his corpse all laid out—but that was just cold meat wearing his face, it certainly wasn't _him_.

She drank yet another cup of tea and thanked someone else for coming in. Maybe it was just as well. She wasn't ready for this house to be empty yet.

Nanny Ogg measured the tall, sour wizard with her eyes as the two of the walked in the rain in the back garden. She wondered what Molly had seen in him to set her on fire so. Granted, his voice would melt a girl's drawers right down, and the size of his nose boded well for anyone who managed to get into his—but his manner put her off just a bit. Then she remembered he was a teacher at a school with a lot of teenage girls, most of whom had no more brains than chickens when it came to men, and decided it might be protective coloring to keep the little darlings from pestering him to death.

"So, what is your connection with the family?"

"I was to keep Mr. Weasley from being killed. I failed."

Oh, dear. "From what I heard, you had all you could do to keep from being pan-fried yourself," she said pertly. The newspapers here had been full of the fire in this Knockturn Alley place. "Now, you look a bit on the moody side, mind you, but I'm not seeing the Mad-Eye."

He grimaced. "I was in disguise. I hope you don't plan to spread that about."  
"Must have been a good disguise, to go missing a leg and an eye and all. He's been here a couple of times, and made _his_ apologies already, but it sounded faked to me, and Molly's answer to him wasn't much better."

"A potion," he said. "Lasts only so long, though." He stared through the rain and made no attempt to cover himself, or indeed, do any kind of magic to keep it off him. Wizards did a lot more with their short wands here than any she saw at home with their staffs, apparently, but this one wasn't doing any. "He trusted me," he added.

Ah. She'd run into that one before, some of her boys had gone to foreign wars and not all of them had come back—but those that had felt just the same. "You did what you could. Don't wallow. Here, have a drink of this. It'll keep your mind off your troubles." If a sip of scumble didn't budge this fellow's misery, it was hopeless.

He took the flask without even looking at it. She was amused by the way his eyes suddenly became twice their size and apparently looked inward not believing what was happening to the mouth, throat and stomach all at the same time. "It's made from apples," she added helpfully.

His mouth moved a couple of times with no sound, his voice was probably paralyzed a bit, and then he gasped for air. "I have a couple of cauldrons that would likely clean," he said once he got his breath back.

"It does good for that, too," Nanny Ogg said, who had used it on a pan or two in her time that one of her daughters-in-law couldn't get clean even with soaking it a while. "Now, you tell me what you are to her and what she is to you. And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"She is Arthur's wife and kissed me a few times during a card game after the punch had been around," he said, clearly trying to keep his voice expressionless. He wasn't succeeding. "I did not try to get her husband killed. In fact, I've done all I was allowed to in order to save him. He is— _was_ a good friend, and, and, oh gods, I would have his wife in my bed in a moment if she ever let me in it." He sounded choked now, as if holding back tears. "And that 'scumble' is the most impressive truth serum I've ever had put down me."  
"It only lets out what you want to let out," Nanny said in a kind voice. "That's why I took you out here before you both exploded like crackers at Yule."

"What do you mean, both…?"

"Yes, both. Now, she has to have her year or however long she wants, she's dying of losing her Arthur, and though it would probably do you both good, you've to leave her alone till she comes to you. If she does. She has been known to change her mind."

"What?" He looked dazed, if only by the scumble.

"Now, if we were back in Lancre, I know a dozen places where you two could meet without causing scandal, but I don't know this world much at all. From what I've heard, this Wizarding place is even smaller than my village in some ways. And at that school, you have to avoid trouble for fear of upsetting parents, though you would think if the teachers were all married, that would settle their minds more than anything else. Still, I imagine you don't want to throw your position away for anything like that, no matter how hot you two might be for each other. Molly'll want to keep her name clear, if only for her children's sake, and having to live down how much fun she had before she met her husband. Rules! It took me till I was fifty to realize I didn't have to hide from myself, but things are different here. But she'll be grieving Arthur till her dying day even if she does take up with you, so don't throw a fit if she calls the wrong name at the wrong time."

He looked like a gaffed fish. No doubt people were afraid of telling him the truth, with his stark looks and gloominess. Well-a-day, awkward truths were her stock in trade, and she only had this short time to tell his to him. "It might not ever happen, and never if you force it—she might seem happy when you do it, but she'll poison you at leisure if it's really against her will. I taught her all the ways when she was my apprentice, because there were those already sniffing at her even then. Then again, if she has a wand too, she might not bother with the poison."

He gulped and looked properly fearful, as well he should. She grinned at him. "If I guess right, though, you won't have to do anything but say 'yes dear' once she's made up her mind. But give her the chance to do so, and don't do anything unseemly if she chooses someone else. I had the same talk with a few of her former friends right before her marriage, and they've been good boys ever since."

"Yes, they have been. Some of them wanted to testify in her favor over a guardianship hearing, but they were discouraged to keep the past back where it belonged."

"Well, now. That was good of them." She beamed at him.

"But I had to ask questions she didn't like anyway, because worse would come out from others if I hadn't," he said gravely.

"Ah! The old 'losing from the other side' routine—I've seen it once, and it was neatly done. Hope you didn't suffer too much from it, from what I've heard, your lads play rough."

"She had to help patch me up after," he said, with a little upwards tick of his thin lips. "So I didn't lose as much as I thought."

"Ha! That's a good one to get the music started, if you don't die of it first," Nanny said. "Well, I've kept you out in the rain long enough. I don't advise you to stay, though."

"Can't, I have another class starting soon. Will you give this to her? It's not anything that would cause trouble in _that_ way, but she knew I was with Arthur that day and not the other man."

"I'll look at it first, mind you," Nanny said, as she accepted the folded paper he handed her.

"Make sure she burns it later, please. Someone might not like it if they knew I was there." His eyes spoke the emotion of his plea better than his voice did.

"Of course, she's told me a bit of what's going on, and I can guess a lot of the rest. But if anyone asks, I'm just guarding her reputation, and if I don't like this letter, I'll burn it anyway."

" _Good._ " He turned on his heel then and went up back to the house, made his goodbye, and left.

Nanny quickly scanned the note, as she'd promised. _I failed you, and I apologize for it. I tried to keep him alive, and I still don't know why he died. But I am here if you wish for vengeance. I will not raise a wand._

 _S._

Ha, he'd raise a wand and then some quickly enough if given the chance. Molly might think that, too, but that was her decision to make. But he shouldn't have left any initial on it, that could be used against him if he was playing both sides against the middle. Nanny frowned. Yes, she'd better pass this on. If Molly was angry enough at him, all she had to do was to let this slip to the wrong person, and she wouldn't have to do anything at all, if Nanny understood this strange magical war going on. Molly had hinted at what a mess it was, and arranged for shelter for whoever she needed to shove into Lancre. Well, they'd had hard times in one of the smallest kingdoms of Discworld, too—she remembered those elves. Who would have thought it was Magrat who'd done their Queen in? Then again, the girl probably had a lot of anger at the way she and Granny Weatherwax had batted her around like a ball of yarn, and the Queen the closest target.

Ah well. Perdita was shaping up, with her strange double soul able to dish it out as well as she could take it, and Tiffany shaping better. Nanny had never seen a witch come from the Chalk before, though nobody had dared to cross Granny Aching.

She handed the note to Molly and warned her to read it in private. Not too long after, Molly claimed the need to lie down to rest up for the ceremony. Nanny followed her and watched her flare up at reading the paper. "Throw that in the hearth now," Nanny said, "unless you want someone else to do him in to save you the trouble."

Her granddaughter flushed even redder and quickly thrust the note into the flames, and poked the ash, just to make sure. "How am I to nap like this?" Molly asked with a groan.

"I'll help you unhook this dress, and then do whatever you need to rest," Nanny said. "Wouldn't do to have the dress all wrinkles from being rucked up, now would it?"

Molly's tears ran down her face. "What kind of woman am I, to feel like this on the day my husband goes into the ground?"

"Well, it isn't the maenad blood," Nanny said tartly. "I was like that too when your grandfather died. It's the heat you get from all your sides, from what I've heard of the Black family as well. Don't hate yourself because of it, it will cool in the years to come, or well, maybe not. It's a gift, not a curse, however unwelcome it is just now. There's women and men both that would pay their weight in gold to have it, aye, and some that would pay their weight to be rid of it, too. But don't you be like that."

"It's just that I've been like this before, but with Arthur to take the sting out of it," Molly said between her sobs. "One year I even had it for that empty smile Lockhart and wasted half the year's budget on his stupid books that all turned out to be lies."

"And have any others besides Arthur had it for you?"

"Yes, but not at the same time. I turned Corney into a donkey for his trouble that one Christmas party, but he never took a grudge from it, though his wife still hates me even though I was doing it for her sake. Now I have it for Snape, and him not making a move or anything."

"The rain turned to steam when it hit when I talked about you to him," Nanny said. "The scumble had the truth out of him, though he needed to tell someone, poor man. But don't go breaking his heart on just a fling, now. He looks like Granny's old Uncle Gerasius who didn't fall in love till he was nearly sixty, and the girl ran off with a cartman instead. So if you go after him, you'd better mean it."

Molly turned still. "He's in dead man's shoes, where he is now. The other side dumped him on my doorstep half-gone not three weeks ago, and I can't tell you how much he's gone through to protect our family already. But you're right. Word is he loved a Muggleborn girl, only to have her waltz off with Harry's real father a long time ago, and that he's not looked at anyone since. Though I imagine he's had some fun out of sight of the school, and no, I don't begrudge him any bit of joy he can find. I've already had to tell Albus to keep his mouth shut—he made a goose of himself a few times thinking I needed protection."

"Oh, that old man who came by Sunday? Yes, he looks the meddling kind, all for everyone's own good, of course. But I think I helped a bit—sending this Snape off with not even a cup of tea or a place to sit might help when the gossips start to point out things. If they have any right to, that is! Well, here I am chattering on and you not managing to rest. Have some happy thoughts, you'll sleep better after, and you'll need all your strength. Best lock the door, though, if someone hears you groan for Arthur they're likely to come in, and won't that set the cat among the pigeons? They'll think you're having a fit and will need to be dosed."

"I'll set up the _Silencio_ now, thank you, Nanny."

The old witch left the room and hoped it was locked anyway. She remembered the tale that went around at Georg's funeral when she'd almost been caught in the pantry with the pieman, and how much better she'd felt that night when he'd sneaked into her bedroom anyway. Now that was a delivery!

She went out to the parlor and did her duty, and informed the children, who were old enough to mind themselves anyway, that they were _not_ to disturb their mother at her rest unless all those Death Squeaker types showed up with wands blazing, and even then to think about it some first.

Molly finished up with a sigh of relief. Maybe she did doze a little after, because she awoke from a dream where she was having breakfast with all the family, including Arthur, but Snape was at the table feeding a couple of extras in highchairs. She couldn't see the new ones' faces clearly, but nobody seemed put out to have them there.

She looked at the time on the clock there in the bedroom, and then dashed around getting dressed again, and brushing her hair one more time and hoping the pins wouldn't fly out for once. She tried a charm to hold them in and hoped it worked.

Everyone in the parlor looked up with a bit of relief—she must have been there longer than she thought. But she did feel better for the rest. She walked over to where Arthur, under an industrial-grade Preservation spell, and ran his hands through his thinning hair.

"Molly, my love, there seem to be more people at the gate in the front garden," her grandmother said.

She used the newly-installed peephole, to make sure who these visitors were. Oh. It was the Ministry people now. Molly opened the door, shoving aside Bill who likely thought the whole lot were Polyjuiced, but she was still mistress of this house, and she had her wand handy just in case.

Madam Umbridge was in front, for once wearing black instead of pink. She suddenly changed from Minister to Dolly, as her face cracked open and she ran, ran towards the house saying, "Oh, Molly, Molly, this must be so horrible for you!"

They embraced on the doorstep, both of them weeping. Molly guided the pair of them inside, to let others in, but was so glad to know that Dolly Ratliff still lived under the hard shell of Minister Umbridge.

The others from the Ministry, including Fudge himself, his bowler black today, also entered the room and gathered around the earthly shell of Arthur Weasley. Molly barely noticed them as she and Dolly sat down on the sofa together and held hands as they had not done since their seventh year—not since Molly's wedding, in fact. "You were here at the beginning," Molly whispered. "And now you are here at the end."

"Yes. I was always so jealous of you…such a happy family…" Dolly's tears were real, unlike the crocodile ones she had shed on other, more formal occasions.

Molly had sometimes envied her former roommate's freedom and quiet after a long day, but today wasn't the day to mention that. She would have all the freedom and quiet she didn't want soon enough. Perhaps it would be good to see Dolly more often than she had. "Thank you, oh, thank you, for coming and bringing all of you…"

"I can't be the Official Ministry Harridan today," her friend said with just a hint of a grin. "We were so close back then…"

Molly didn't want to say it was Dolly's envy that had driven them apart. But then, she'd had much less time for her friend when she flirted and more than that with boys. Oh, Dolly sometimes made do with her leftovers, or the ones she didn't want…but even she knew that wasn't the same. "I know, oh, Dolly, it was my fault too…"

"But mostly me," the other woman said with sadness in her eyes. "That's one reason I don't mind looking after your son up there. You must be heartbroken with him not coming by as often as you'd like."

"It hurts," Molly said. "Oh, please come by more…I miss you."

A tiny glint of satisfaction showed in Dolly's eyes, and then faded. "Of course. You had only to ask."

Molly knew it she deserved it. There hadn't been much room for others in her life with all her family about her, but then, she could have made her friend more welcome a long time ago. "Thank you."

Her friend stood up then, "I am keeping you from your other guests, but I will be back."

Molly nodded as Madam Umbridge reappeared and went to over to pay her respects to Arthur himself. She glanced over and saw Percy standing stiffly and nobody talking to him. She longed to go to him and hold him in her arms but couldn't do with so many others about. They both knew the rules.

Fortunately, she saw Charlie going over to his brother with his hand out to shake, and not clenched in a fist. She hoped things would stay that way, but decided she'd allow Bill to be the chief enforcer for now.

Cornelius Fudge and his wife nodded at her, came over, and the three of them exchanged pleasantries. Molly didn't know how much Mildred knew about how Corny had kept donkey ears on till Three Kings day one year, but couldn't forget how she and Arthur had laughed for years over the incident.

This was a time to remember everything about Arthur, her beloved, even if she couldn't do all of it out loud.

Then the pops of Apparation could be heard outside the door again. This time Bill went to the peephole and said, "The Hogwarts people are here." Bill questioned them as they came through the door and they all proved their bona fides as far as he was concerned, though he kept his wand at the ready.

Albus came in, and Molly rose to embrace the old wizard. "You have only to ask, Mrs. Weasley, and the rest of us will make it happen," he said softly. "You are valuable to us and not just your husband." Well, she doubted _that_ , but it was nice of him to say it.

Minerva came in and gave her a bony, formal hug. "I'll do my best to look after your _three_ ," she said, obviously making sure she knew Harry was to be counted among them.

"Thank you," Molly said hoarsely, knowing the time for them to return to the school was too soon at hand, and the days to Christmas break longer. McGonagall then circulated among the others. Pomona Sprout came in, her former House Head, and Molly sobbed on her shoulder. "Oh, my dear, weep away, my shoulders are broad enough for all my children."

That reunion lasted a bit longer. Then the older woman said, "Professor Flitwick has sent a wreath, but I don't know about Professor Snape…"

"He was here this morning for a short while. My granny took him around back, something about reinforcing the wards."

"Well, he'd be the one to do it. I heard a Ministry owl bounced off one of his once…" Pomona said, as she sat down beside Molly on the couch. "Dolly, come over here, and sit on my other side." Madam Umbridge turned back into a real person again as she sat down. "I am so sad that it took this to bring you two back together again, but I am happy to see you friends however the circumstances." She barely noticed little Hermione walking in practically unnoticed, or Ron flying forward to hug her.

Molly leaned in—this just _felt_ right after so long. She had been so lonely so far from Lancre, and Dolly had just lost her father, and so the two of them took advantage of whatever cuddle time they could manage from the then-much-younger House Head. Professor Sprout had been glad to let them weep on her then…

Alastor Moody stumped in, looking around as if he expected a beating. Molly hadn't the heart to play the part of scold, and just motioned him to come by her. "I know you did all you could," she said, reciting her lines but without any venom.

"I did," the gruff old retired Auror said, who levered himself down into a chair with no ceremony, since his leg offered him every excuse. "You have every right to hex me into oblivion."

"But I would miss you so if I did," Molly said.

"Well," he said, his ears going just a bit pink. "I still regret everything that happened. Ask me what you will." A small, strange sound rang through the room—no doubt he meant every word, and now his own magic would sour on him if he refused.

She nodded, accepting his pledge. She had no idea what she would ever have to ask of him, but no doubt it would be a doozy when she finally thought of something.

The clock struck. The hands had hit a place on the face that said, IT'S TIME.

Molly stood, donned her cloak, and motioned everyone to do the same. She would do no one any favors by having half the magical world come down with pneumonia, as the rain was now turning into sleet. "Warming and drying charms everyone!" she ordered, ignoring the fact that almost everyone was already casting them.

Arthur was covered with a plain white sheet, save for the embroidery she had put on the top edge before she was a bride. Bill, Fred and George took one side—she would have to do something special for the twins, they had been so very good this time—while Percy, Charlie and Ron took the other. Ginny walked along beside her at the rear. The sleet hissed down on what was left of Arthur. The others followed them out the front door, around the Burrow, and to the back garden. A hole had been excavated recently, though the edges were already crumbling in this weather. Snape had probably done that for her. Her six boys carefully took Arthur off the table top they'd used to carry him and gently lowered him, still wrapped in the sheet, into the ground.

Molly waved her wand and chanted, "From earth and water you came, to earth and water you go. You are bound to this land now, bound to defend it along with all your ancestors who are resting here. As long as your bones remain, you will stand to fight should the worst come." As she spoke, the dirt from the excavation flew back into the hole to cover Arthur's remains. She paused. Now came the really hard part. "All here, please come to speak of what you knew of Arthur Weasley, for good or ill or maybe both. No free speech will be penalized or result in any feud between anyone here or their families." That caveat was necessary, for many hexes and curses had flown at times over last words over a grave.

Albus Dumbledore stepped up first—only fair, he and his had to go back to the school sooner than the others had to leave for the Ministry. "Arthur Weasley was a kind and fair man, who loved his children dearly. He put his foot down several times when his older children wanted to leave school and earn money for the family, and told them not to worry, that he would be able to provide. They had faith in him, and now today do better than they ever could have otherwise. I mentioned this, because I suspect his two—no, three—younger children might want to make a similar sacrifice. But Mr. Weasley was far braver than people think, and we are sad that his courage cost him his life."

Well, that was true enough; her spell enforced that as much as if she'd dosed everyone with Veritaserum. But he'd said far less than he could have, for which she was grateful. She hoped the next Order meeting would bring other recollections.

Cornelius Fudge stepped up then, his face drooping. "Arthur Weasley was one of our most interesting and diligent employees," he said. "One can see where his twin sons gained their sense of humor, because their father was always up for a joke. Indeed, his love of strange devices may have led him to his doom, since it was investigating one that shrieked when you touched it that caused him to leave the Ministry the morning of his death. I cannot remember the number of times when other strange devices tried to escape out his door or window, much to the consternation or amusement of the other offices. In these grim times, he struck a note of levity that will be very much missed."

Madam Umbridge was next, her Ministry face plastered firmly on. "I often made fun of him," she said, her voice quavering. "And I am sorry for it now. Arthur Weasley made his wife and family _happy,_ something all too rare and precious. And…I made fun of my former roommate, too, and I wish I never had. We all are the poorer for his death." Tears streamed down her face, mixed with rain with ice in it.

They would all freeze to death before they were done at this rate. Molly said, "I think Arthur would want us to say what we had to say in front of the hearth with a hot drink in each hand. He never wanted anyone to suffer for his sake."

Everyone gratefully moved back inside. The important part had been done already, binding Arthur to the land, and anything else that had to be done could wait for a drier day. Any Death Eaters who wanted to risk pneumonia were welcome to try. No Inferi had come from the Burrow or ever would.

Everyone shot Molly a look of gratitude, save for those who were too miserable to care. Even they began to cheer up a little bit as they thawed out. The parlor looked too empty, now, with only the table (the top quickly dried and replaced on the legs) there, so bare, so bare, so bare…

Molly paid attention again as Professor McGonagall gave a few memories of Arthur as a student when he was in Gryffindor, and she was much younger herself and trying to cope as a new teacher. _That's right, Albus had been Head of Gryffindor back then, not her…Dippet was still in charge…_ She and Arthur had been married just over 30 years…and nobody had said a thing so long ago when Bill had been a seven-pound baby born at seven months. Well, lots of people had said lots of things, but not in her hearing after a few hexes from Arthur. Others outside the family came up and spoke, looking at the bare table with grief on most of their faces. Madam Pomfrey simply wept, and then waved the next speaker on—Molly knew she would come another time when it would be just them. Then little Hermione stepped up, though she didn't have to say anything. "Mr. Weasley showed me some of his Muggle devices," she said. "I tried not to laugh at what he thought he knew about them. I hope he liked the catalog…" Then she burst into tears and Ron hugged her. Her hair was practically a living thing by itself the way it curled and furled outside of her youngest son's arms.

Well. The girl had done the right thing. Ron looked manly and protective that way. _I mustn't interfere,_ Molly told herself firmly. _It'll work out or it won't, and I have no right to force him to make any choices at all, given how I've neglected him. He was always the last in line…even more so than Ginny. Let him be first in someone else's heart, if he can't be first in mine._

Nearly everyone who wasn't family had spoken. Moody was the last of the non-family who clattered up to the table and placed his hand on it. "Arthur Weasley was one of the bravest men I have ever known," he said. "Many would draw back with his family responsibilities. Even more would have said, 'I've had enough' after that big snake's attack. And yet he wouldn't. But it's not that I praise him for—it's for raising a family so large and loving that almost nothing could ever divide it. The time for staying neutral is running out fast, as we all learned at the guardianship hearing at the Ministry not too long ago. I know what side I'm on and I knew what side Arthur was one. And yes, he died of it. He won't be the first or the last, but he was one of the best, and we will all miss him." He turned around and began to hobble out.

Molly was glad they didn't observe Muggle customs—forcing the family to speak before strangers was an abomination, and she didn't see how people stood for it. Hermione left with the Hogwarts people with a white-faced glance back at Ron, and Ron's steady, love-sick gaze at her. _Does she care for him as much as he does her?_

But this was not her matter to stick her spoon in.

Now, it was only family in the house. Aunt Muriel spoke now. Her voice shook. "I never quite approved of him," she said. "He was never serious. I saw how the Prewitts lost their finest, and they were never serious, either. I always wished he would concentrate more on providing for his family than playing with those silly Muggle toys, but…it's not right that investigating one of them killed him. I found out—I found out about the extra work he did sometimes to bring more home, and I didn't approve of that either, but I was a fool. I could have helped so he didn't have to worry so much, but I refused to do that. And so…so here we are." Her whole face quivered as she clearly tried hard to push back tears. "I hate funerals!" She sat down and disappeared behind half-an-acre of white handkerchief.

Nanny Ogg was next and she didn't look nearly as sturdy as she usually did. "I hate funerals, too," she said. She wasn't that much taller than the table when she was bent over like that. "I have buried too many in my time, and it looks to be bargain days for dying in this land, too. But my home is open to any of you who must go there, and don't be shy about asking, And if any of your enemies follow, well, we have a few surprises there for them as well. I never thought to see my Molly in widow's weeds, knowing how long people live here, and it breaks my heart to see her this way." She took a quick gulp from her flask and calmed down. "But even after I have to go home, I want you to Floo or owl or let me know how you are each and every week. No excuses!"

"Yes, Nanny," Molly said in a dull voice. It felt as if the air had become lead, and she heavier with each and every breath.

Bill was the oldest of the children, and now it was his turn. "Oh, Dad," he said, caressing the table top. "I always meant to do you proud…you told me that you _were_ proud of me, the last time we talked, and that you were glad I had the job I had. I didn't know till now what you gave, what the family gave, for me to have a real apprenticeship at Gringotts and not just a contract jobber, the way most humans are there. You gave so much to all of us. And now you're gone." He turned away, probably to hide a less than manly reaction, and gestured at Charlie.

Her second son stood. "We fought so much! You didn't want me leaving the country the way Bill did, but once you realized that being with dragons was the only thing for me, then we were friends again. Oh, Dad, I am so sorry for being such an idiot last summer!" Then Charlie clenched his fists and turned away.

Molly noticed the outline of a figure on the empty table. Since they were having the family only bit inside, it made sense that Arthur was going to have his last word here, rather than out at the actual gravesite.

Percy was next. Everything became dead silent. He rose, walked to the table, and put his hands on it. "I can't lie to you any more," he said. "But let me finish before you yell at me." He opened his collar, lowered his shirt over his left shoulder. Everyone gasped as they saw the Mark, though to Molly's eyes it didn't look quite right—there was another color mixed in there, too, but she could only tell it was a lighter one. "I know what you're thinking. But everything I do, everything I say, it's all for this family—and if anyone talks, I'll be the next one out there, lying next to Dad. Moody knows the truth, but who knows if he would say anything if I was ever caught? Madam Umbridge doesn't know, but Moody and Snape do. I think the Headmaster does, as well. Go on ahead, keep hating me outside these walls. That actually _helps_ me. But I can't stand it…I can't be as brave as Snape and let everyone hate me the way we all do him."

He took a deep breath. "Dad, you knew on that horrible Sunday when some of us died. And you kept my secret. The rest of you, you _have_ to keep this secret, or I'm dead. Fred, George, I know you never liked the way I did things, till I ordered those joke wands, but go ahead and send me a dungbomb once a week, or people will think you like me again…" He smiled wanly at the twins. "Oh, Dad, please be proud of me…Mum…I hope you are, too."

Molly sobbed into a dishtowel at this revelation, a handkerchief never would have held all her tears. She had suspected something of the sort, especially last summer, but had known her son was true the day that Arthur had died in her arms. "I am, Percy. I am…" she choked out between her weeping.

The twins stood up together as soon as Percy sat down. "We won't grass on you, Perce," Fred said.

"Never! But thanks for the permission to send you—"

"But not dungbombs all the time, that's boring—"

"Give the Toad a Canary Cream and send us a picture, we'll frame it!"

"And remember your promise for the Pensieve memory when you and your lot have fun with the fake wands…"

Then the two fell silent and both of them looked down at the table. The outline of Arthur Weasley's corpse looked nearly solid by now. "Dad, we're sorry about old Montague—" "You're right, we did want him off the Snakes' team—" "We wanted to be the New Marauders…" "But you made us see a bit more clearly—" "What that really meant."

They both wiped their eyes in identical gestures and sat down.

Ron stood up next. Oh, he looked so handsome in a proper robe and good shoes! "Dad, you tried to protect me when I was little, even when you were tired from work and wanted Ginny to cuddle instead. And I still remember the time you went down to the clothing store with me and bought me new underwear and gave up your fag money for a couple of weeks for it. I liked playing chess with you, too—I beat half the Gryffindors in the common room with the moves you showed me. I won't ever let you down, Dad, no matter how scared I am sometimes." He sat down, caught between man and child by the look on his face.

Harry was next. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a corner of his robe. "I didn't have you for my Dad for very long," he said in a hoarse voice. "I guess I'm bad luck that way…but I loved it when you came to the school and told me about the hearing and asked me what I really wanted. There aren't too many people who do that! I wish you hadn't died. I was just getting used to having a family that _wanted_ me…" He gulped, and sat down, clearly too upset to talk.

Then it was Ginny's turn. "Oh, Dad…you were the world to me. You taught me how to fly and never let me go on the hard parts. You let me help you sometimes out in the shed. And you and Mum sat up with me when I had bad nights after that first year at Hogwarts. You let me cry all over your pajamas, but you never left till I was all the way asleep again. You set up a nightlight for me when I was afraid of the dark again after that and showed me how I could take it to Hogwarts and put it inside my poster bed so none of the other girls would laugh at me.

"I want a husband like you someday, someone who is brave and good and funny and who loves me the way you loved Mum and all the rest of us. You taught me that money isn't as important as how happy you are, even if I didn't like wearing robes that Mum had to make for me. You taught me that a houseful of children and laughter count more than any vault full of Galleons…" Ginny burst into tears and Molly opened her arms for the girl, who leaned into her shoulder and left snot all over her robe, but that didn't matter a bit…

It was Molly's turn now. She gazed down at her beloved husband's face, now clearly evident as his figure lay on the table. She imagined that she could actually touch him now, though it was dangerous, oh so dangerous, but part of her didn't care.

She took a deep breath. "I loved you at Hogwarts, and I have never touched another man since. Part of me will always long for you, and it hurts like nothing else to have you gone from me. Before we were mother and father, we were husband and wife, and before that, we snogged in back of the scoring shed like thousands of other couples. Oh, Arthur, how can I live without you? But I must, I must, for the children we gave each other need me." She closed her eyes and swallowed. This was the real good-bye, the forever one.

"We'll manage somehow without you. Do not try to come back again, my beloved, save this last time. You were never a coward, so I know you won't become a ghost. I know, I hope, I wish I will dream of you and your love. It meant so much to me…"

She wiped her eyes again. "I loved you so, and you are gone. I can't say any more…"

Molly sat down and waited. Now it was Arthur's turn to speak. The ghostly figure of Arthur Weasley rose up from the table from where he lay. This would be the last time he would ever address them till they themselves had passed.

"Oh, my darlings, I will miss you so." His voice lacked the strength it once had when he was living. "But I'll be with you in your hearts, and if ever I need to, I will rise with the rest of the Weasleys buried in back, as long as my bones remain. This weather will dissolve the rest of me almost as fast as flame would, so there is little danger that I can be used against you. Anybody who tries will find out the hard way how I and the others will fight to defend this land, and those who live upon it."

The ghostly figure looked around him. "As long as all the living stand together, our family, and our world cannot be defeated. And that includes you, Harry.

"I know the game the rest of you must play with Percy, and he's right—one word out of any of you, and he'll be lying next to me before next year is out. If you lacked reason to learn that Occlumency stuff before, you have it now. He's trusted you with his life, when he could have reasoned that what you don't know can't be Crucio'd out of you, but he chose your love over his own safety."

Harry hung his head low, probably wishing he hadn't given Snape so much backtalk the previous year. Molly wished she knew more of that herself, she probably carried enough secrets to send half the Order into hell if someone asked her hard enough. Well, if she had to take lessons from one of her own children, it wouldn't be the first time. And if any of them were captured by the other side, a lot of them would be dead meat anyway. All the better to win instead.

Arthur's shade looked around and given that this was likely his last look at home, she didn't blame him. He spoke again. "Aunt Muriel, no one is likely to come knocking at your door, but keep your wand handy anyway. The Potters thought they were safe, with the Fidelius and all, and look what happened to them. You might think to move in with someone else, living alone the way you are you might offer them a ready target."

"Everyone knows how much I disapprove of you, and how disliked I am by most of the rest of the family," the old woman said with spirit. "But it's been a while since I had a good gossip with Augusta Longbottom. No doubt she and I can hatch some mischief together."

"Good," Arthur's ghost said with a firm nod. "Nanny, you may have guests sooner than you think, and we appreciate your hospitality, and willingness to do in our enemies should they cross your threshold. You have the right bloody-minded spirit that our family stands for."

"This is not Lancre's fight, but you might be surprised who shows up when it's time for yours," Nanny Ogg said. "We have our own evils that you'd not like much either, and so there might be time when we call for help ourselves."

"Then you will have it!" Molly said. "I belong to both places and want to see them free."

Arthur nodded. "Bill, I do not grudge one Knut put forward to your place at Gringotts. Remind those goblins that you have one if they ever try to pull anything funny, too. Molly's better taken care of than you think, but be sure to raise a ruckus if one of them tries to take advantage of your mother. Charlie, keep the peace the best you can. And don't forget how far a dragon can fly if we need one."

Charlie nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes, Dad. I won't forget."

"Percy, you won't be able to come home again for a long time, if ever, but you're in our hearts all the same. That'll be cold comfort some of the time, but it's the best we can do. Don't forget we love you."

"Yes, Dad," Percy said, then bit his lip.

"Gred and Forge, play your worst pranks on your enemies, not your friends, and be right careful which people you pick for enemies. If you forget, I will remind you, and you won't like it. Save something up for worse days, or you'll lose the element of surprise."

"Yes, Dad—" "Of course, Dad."

"Good. Ronald, Harry, stand together the way you have in the past, and don't leave out anyone who can help you, even if you think they're from the wrong house. I was proud as anything when I heard about that DA of yours, but you didn't ask enough people. Don't make the same mistake this next time around. I know I was hard on the Snakes when I was in school, and maybe that's what's part of what's wrong these days. Feuds have to end, but sometimes that's when everyone is dead. You can do better than I did, or those who came right after me. There are reasons that people from all the Houses joined the Death-Eaters the first time around, and I'm afraid we were part of it—and Harry, your dad and godfather were worse than I and my friends were. That's why I told Bill not to get involved with that lot or try to start it up again when he went to Hogwarts, and I wished I'd said the same to the twins."

Molly eyed the two young men with her 'you _will_ tell me about it or die' look. And they certainly squirmed around as much as if they'd gotten the itch somewhere it wasn't fun.

"Ron, we didn't add Harry to our family because we thought you weren't worthy. You have a future ahead of you, at least I hope you do, but don't throw away your life just because you don't think we care. We do. We passed you over too many times for the others, and we're sorry for it."

Molly nodded. She was so embarrassed about the robes, she felt her face growing hot over it. Ron gulped, and sat down.

Arthur's shade looked fondly at his newest son. "Harry, you don't have to be a house elf just so we'll keep you. I don't blame you for wanting to hide from the lot we've had in the parlor, but you can be a boy here, not the great hope of the Wizarding World. You'll need help with Grimmauld Place, though, and I hope you have your mum with you. And you know that all of us will be with you when the time comes. You won't be able to keep them away to keep them safe so don't even try. Oh, Harry, I know this is hard for you. But we all love you and will stand at your side."

Harry had to turn away and put his hands up to his face. Molly so wanted to take him in her arms right then, but knew she had to let him come to her. He sat down beside Ron and tried to pretend he wasn't crying.

"Ginny…oh, Ginny, my darling. My sweet girl." It looked like _Arthur_ was crying now. "Tell your mum when the darkness bothers you, love. It wasn't your fault, what happened your first year at Hogwarts. No one can fight You-Know-Who on their own, especially an eleven-year -old girl. And tell your mum how you really feel about some of the boys. She would understand better than you think. I will miss you so much."

Ginny couldn't talk, her face was buried in her own handkerchief and she was shaking with the force of her sobs. Molly knew what Arthur's face had looked like the moment the baby girl had been placed in his arm—it was a different look than with his sons, fierce and tender and protective all at once. _I will protect you just as much,_ she vowed. Before they went back to school, she'd have a quiet moment with all her children, even if she had to sneak into Percy's office under Harry's cloak.

And now, now it was her turn to hear Arthur's last words. "Beloved," he said like a breath of summer. "We had ourselves quite a time together, didn't we? Seven, no, eight children and sometimes the neighbor's extras. And a house full of love. And you, always you, making the hearth light up in my heart. Other parts, too." He had a wicked grin on his face. "Making those children was fun, too. I was so looking forward to the war being over, with keeping grandchildren out of the fire and scaring them with stories about the ghoul in the attic. You will have to have those years for me, Mollywobbles."

She let the tears run down her face unchecked. That name always made her feel weak in the knees and her thighs ready for him.

Arthur's ghost looked around at the rest of the family. "I have a few more words, but for your Mum's ears alone. Fred, George, don't send down your Extendibles unless you want to hear things that will set even them to burning."

The children fled, even Bill.

He faced her again and spoke in a low voice. "Molly, don't mourn me forever. You were never made to be a woman alone since you first blossomed. I know you'd gladly pledge to wear my ring forever just now, but don't. Give me my year, that's all I ask."

She hung her head in embarrassment. He was probably right. "I will give you anything you ask, Arthur my king," she said, using the nickname she meant in all seriousness.

"Then know that I would never ask you to keep your bed forever empty. Bill found the magazines out in the shed, but you need to read them too. If you had ever invited another to share with you, I might not have been as jealous as you thought."

"I…I had a dream that night, the night after that horrible party…you know, after we made the ointment together." She felt her face go as hot as the fire in the hearth.

"I had the same kind of dream, but part of me knew someone else was there, too," he said. "And you could choose much worse than _him_. He'd treat you right or I'd come back and let him know about it, too. But even Moody could probably show you a few things we never learned at Hogwarts."

"What you must think of me!"

"I think that you are beautiful, yes, even now, and could have any man you wanted, even He Who Must Not Be Named if he liked women at all," Arthur said. "Though I'd like to think you had better taste!"

They both had a good laugh over that, though Molly thought if taking the scaly serpent to bed would win the war, she'd invite him over that evening even with the children staying overnight.

"Seriously, my love, the children will object, but if you pick the right man it will be all right with _me_." He looked around, as if he heard something beyond her knowing. "I have to go—oh, my love…"

And then he faded away.

She called everyone back in, though Percy had to leave. Only one brief hug from him, and he was gone, too.

Molly took a deep breath and a sip of the Firewhiskey someone had brought. Time to do her duty and hold this family together.

Voldemort closed the pages of the day's _Daily Prophet._ The obituary for Arthur Weasley had been long and fulsome—he had not been terribly important, obviously, but he had been well-known and had had many friends. The description of his widow had not been quite so complimentary, but still, she was considered a good woman by most. Seven children, now including the most irritating Harry Potter. Snape was undoubtedly correct to dismiss the boy save as a figurehead, but Voldemort had felt the boy's strength nearly a year and a half ago, and it had held him off though the boy had only been fifteen at the time. It would grow. The time to remove the boy from the board was _now_ , not in some mythical confrontation for the ages a few years from now. Some wizards, like Snape, grew in strength till they were quite old, in fact. Dumbledore himself was beginning to fade, but not nearly soon enough.

Timing was everything, Voldemort thought. _Yes, I do rush my fences, and that is why I have lost in the past. If I only wait till summer for some of what I want, I will have much less interference. Children who might otherwise band together are often separated, and don't think of warfare when busy playing Quidditch in some back garden. Granted, Mr. Potter will likely stop at the Burrow this time rather than with his odious Muggle relatives, but the principle holds._

He looked around the ruins of Riddle Manor. Some of it had been repaired, but only the bits that would not show to Muggle eyes. Keeping a constant concealment charm on any one place was asking for some annoying Auror to stumble across it and wonder why. At least the few rooms here were warm and as comfortable as they could be made through Muggle means. Fortunately, the electrician had been Imperiused and then Obliviated, as the plumber had been. The utilities were paid through a bank far too low on the food chain to be investigated by anyone, even though he was certain that Albus Dumbledore had not forgotten his real name nor that of his Muggle family. Bellatrix was with her kin for a change, who knew better than to talk of anyone who had been in Azkaban.

He didn't like reading death notices, even the ones he had caused last summer. While at the orphanage, he'd been forced to attend a few for some of the other orphans. Jamie's had been the worst…but even at his young age back then, he'd found a way to avenge the boy. He forced himself back into the present.

"Well, Pettigrew, how was the ceremony?" he asked Wormtail, who had been standing just outside the circle of warmth provided by the register and the hearth—which was on a little network of its own so far unnoticed by the authorities. Apparating people through the Mark was a chore, and those who preferred a special Floo and were on the inside circle kept him from having to use the other method all the time.

"A mob all the time," the rat said, who looked glum. No doubt his new apprentice had had to be there as well. "No chance to get out and about till it was quite late, and nowhere to hide save under the sofa. Even then, the family wards kicked everyone out, including me, once that part started."

"I'm surprised they were outside for that long," the Dark Lord said.

"Well, apparently, the bones of old Weasley were bound to the land instead of Incendio. I think anyone who tries to make an Inferius out of him might not like the result. But he'd laid on the table long enough during the wake that his spirit was able to come out there for his last speeches, or so I heard from the lads once they had to come back upstairs. Seems the loving husband had a few last words for his wife," Pettigrew said with a leer. "I saw plenty when I lived there, and I'm sure he had lots to say!"

Voldemort pursed his lips in disgust. "I expect so," he said curtly. "You must be quite attentive to young Mr. Weasley, your apprentice. Being around his family is likely giving him thoughts of backing out."

"Already sent him a note," the rat said. "But you're right, my lord, he could use a bit of cosseting."

"Now, who was there from Hogwarts? I would be quite surprised if the paper listed everyone who visited."

"Old Snape stopped by in the morning, but he didn't get so much as a cuppa. He went out to the back garden to be grilled by the old biddy who came in to help Mol—I mean, Mrs. Weasley." He licked his lips. "Now there's a widow who won't stay one more than the usual year."

"She is not for you, Mr. Pettigrew. Besides, is there not a younger Weasley woman that is more to your taste?"

Pettigrew looked guilty, but then he usually did. "I never thought to touch her, my lord, only look. She's a sweet thing, but I thought you might want her for yourself."

 _Not very likely,_ he thought. _Bella would send a Reducto the girl's way if she even thought Miss Weasley attracted my eye. But she won't mind torturing the rat a little bit for reaching beyond his station._ "That remains to be seen. The girl might throw herself into battle and end up dead before I could really claim her, though from what I have heard, she has attracted a lot of attention." _Plus, dear rat, she is likely to gut you in your sleep_. "However, I would hate for you to feel neglected. Please, take this token of appreciation for your hard work, and enjoy yourself." He handed Wormtail an envelope a token similar to the one he had offered to Snape, though he had enjoyed having Narcissa be the one to deliver it that time. Yes, looking at Pettigrew's grin reminded him that he had to be the bearer of gifts as well as punishment.

Then again, Snape's present might take a long time to deliver, but the process had already begun. Voldemort smiled, then reopened the paper. The Harpies were doing annoyingly well this week…

Molly and Nanny Ogg made breakfast for the family that next morning, and then waved good-bye to them. Bill would be in and out till after Christmas, but the rest wouldn't be back for a few weeks. The youngest three had to return to Hogwarts, Charlie to Romania, Percy was already gone, and Aunt Muriel had decided to visit Augusta Longbottom for a few days, possibly to confer about mutual defense—though Molly would put Augusta up against her weight in Death Eaters. The twins had already checked on their shop several times during this last week and were off again to it after they'd eaten. They swore they would be back, though, if only to sponge out of her kitchen.

She assured herself that her home would be full again at Christmas, and tried really hard not to think about the quiet days after. Her grandmother would be here at need anyway, though Molly didn't want to bother her too much—she had the rest of the family back in Lancre to see to as well.

Then it was time for the Hogwarts three to go back. Albus had opened the Floo for them, and she smiled and waved farewell at them, and told them to let her know when they were caught up on their school work, and not to make Hermione do it all for them. "And I would love to see her come with you at Christmas, if her parents don't have other plans. I loved having her here this summer, and wouldn't mind winter, either." Ron lit up like a firework when she said that. Yes, she had been a fool about the Muggleborn girl, and it was about time she faced up to it.

Harry seemed reluctant to go, and she couldn't blame him, here he could be just a boy, while at Hogwarts he had a Destiny hanging over him. Ginny could hardly face her but smiled anyway—they'd had quite the talk about boys, and the potion her daughter would need if she decided to experiment a bit. "Just drink it once a day, dear, and then if your impulses get the better of you, you won't need the other one," Molly had told her. Both of them had been red-faced by the end of it, but a lot of things had been cleared up. By now, more stories of her past social life were out and around anyway, and Ginny might as well stay out of fights over it.

Charlie then went on his broom—he was going to London for his Portkey and the weather wasn't quite as bad today, so he thought he'd rather have some fresh air than end up all ash-covered from the Floo. She waved him off, too.

Then it was just her and Nanny, and the dishes and cleaning were done all too soon.

"Well, now comes the hard part," her granny said. "When the house is empty and nobody's coming home is when it hurts the most. But you have to live through that part, too. You might choose unwisely just to have a warm body in the bed next to you, and I've done it myself a couple of times. Better to hold off and find what it's like to be by yourself than to have a drunk or a brute trying to rule your life. I know, you haven't been alone like that since you were a child, but it would be too easy to grab the first one coming by and regret it later."

"I know," Molly said. "My cousin Sirius showed me what some men are like in their cups, and I'd end up running through husbands the way Madam Zabini is said to. I hear there's a betting book out whenever she marries as to how long the new one will last. Surprised anyone's left who's dumb enough to think he'll live by now, really."

Nanny wrinkled her nose. "I knew one like that, though not in Lancre, but in forn parts, and she finally married one who did _her_ in. I expect the same thing will happen to this one unless she stops marrying."

"True. As rich as she is now, you'd think she could stop, unless it's killing the men she likes," Molly said, and took a sip of her tea.

"Ah. Now that's a thought. Pity she doesn't marry all the men on the other side, then."

"Well, that's mainly the ones who are dead…" Molly thought about it for a moment. "Maybe we'll just let her have at it. Too bad You-Know-Who doesn't fancy her!"

They both cackled at that thought.

Then it was quiet. Molly twitched to be up and doing something, but discovered it'd all been done. Normally, when this was the case, she'd be over to Grimmauld Place, where there was always _everything_ to be done, and Kreacher to trip over on top of it.

She got up and switched on the wireless, and they both enjoyed the music, and Nanny had some good comments about the commercials. "I can just imagine the kind they would have in Lancre if we had anything like this," she said. "Bus the Butcher has killed a cow and if you want the lights and livers, you'd better get there faster than his cat. The King and Queen are expecting and hope to have a girl this time. Don't bother Jason the guard about the Queen till noon, she's still puking before then and won't appreciate hearing from you. Granny Weatherwax is making more of the _ointment,_ the right flowers for it finally bloomed in her garden. Also, she says you should eat more prunes and you won't have as much trouble anyway. Mrs. Collop, your little boy has run off without his clothes again, you can fetch him at Nanny's cottage where he's having a grand time pulling up weeds. Well, we hope they're weeds."

Molly thought of some more announcement that the wireless here could do. "Fudge has got a new bowler, everyone at the Ministry say something nice about it if you want a Christmas bonus this year. Madam Umbridge, your cat plates are all blank and the wretched things are running out the door into Muggle London. Dumbledore, there's a new shipment of Fizzing Whizbees at Honeydukes, how many boxes do you want us to set aside for you? Professor McGonagall, we could use your help rounding up those cats of Umbridge's and there's some tasty fish in it for you…"

Nanny Ogg raised her eyebrow.

"Oh, she can turn into a cat if she likes," Molly says. "She even has the markings for her glasses. I told her not to do it around here, but if she did, to keep a sharp eye out for the ghoul."

"How on earth did you end up with a ghoul?"

"Inherited it, Arthur grew up in the room in the attic closest to him and wouldn't turn him out on a bet. It does make it impossible to keep pets, unless they fly, and I really should have wondered how Scabbers managed to survive all that time, but there you are. He's really handy, though, we had a burglar once who fled upstairs and we never heard of the fellow again. Once that story went around, we weren't bothered any more. And if someone is really annoying, we just put him or her on the 'feed to the ghoul list' and move on."

"Did the ghoul really…."

"No, we just Petrified the fellow, and said if he spread the story that the ghoul ate his partner, the one he didn't actually have, we'd let him go this once. He was more than happy to do it, too. We warned him that if he didn't, we'd let the twins have a go at him. Even at their age then, they had _ideas_."

"Yes, I've seen some of them." Nanny Ogg went _tsk_. "Menaces, both of them. Still, if the worst happens, I imagine they'll make a hole in the enemy. Let's hope they don't do the same to their friends."

Molly remembered some of the times Arthur had had to rescue Ron from them, and the one time she'd had to rescue Ginny—she'd hated whipping them both, but it seemed to be the only way to make sure they never tried anything on their little sister again. _I should have worked harder to keep them from ragging on Percy, too,_ she thought. _Or Ron, for that matter, I could tell he's convinced I care nothing for him. It might be too late to change his mind, and I could lose him the way we almost lost Percy, and still could._ She wasn't about to minimize the danger her third boy was in. 'I've hoped for the same, and for a lot longer," she said in reply.

She had never done as much as she could to make the twins mind; they had reminded her so much of Fabian and Gideon—or Gabian and Fideon, as they had sometimes called themselves—that she never could stay angry with them for long.

Molly sighed. "Nothing is funny. And it won't be any more, not for a long time." Tears ran down her face. "I don't know what to do!"

"Go ahead and cry, love, you've earned it," her Nanny said. "I will miss that man myself. It hurts to see anyone I care for so broken-hearted, but weep away, it will do you good."

She complied, and dampened a whole dishcloth before she was done. These were not the last tears she would shed, she was certain, but for now the flood had dried a bit.

"Well, I'd better go see to the pigs," Molly said. "I haven't been out there all this time, they've probably forgotten who I am."

"Oh, I doubt that," Nanny said with a laugh. "Pigs and men always know where their bread is buttered."

Molly thought of Arthur again, and more moisture leaked. But she rose from her chair and went to the barn anyway. Ginny had done her fair share and more while she wept for her father, she could pour the feed and cry at the same time.

Tonight would be worse, and when Nanny went home—that would be the worst. What would she do for the nights when nobody would be home at all but her?


End file.
